LIFE AFTER LOSS: AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL STUDY OF POST-WAR RECOVERY, TESO, EAST UGANDA, WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO YOUNG PEOPLE.
JOANNA de BERRY LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS AND POLITICAL SCIENCE
THESIS SUBMITTED FOR DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY UNIVERSITY OF LONDON JULY 1999 UMI Number: U615202
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78t % o THESIS ABSTRACT
The thesis is a study of processes of post-war recovery in one rural parish, called Nyadar, in the Teso region of East Uganda following a period of sustained political conflict and corresponding loss in the Teso area. The conflict lasted from 1979 until 1991. Analysis of the post-war recovery is based upon ethnographic research conducted in Nyadar between September 1996 and March 1998.
The thesis is concerned with the impact of war on cultural praxis in Nyadar. The thesis considers the five key areas identified by people in Nyadar as integral to the recovery process: recovery of the household, the role of young people, the recovery of material wealth, the recovery of emotional well being, the cosmological dimension of post-war recovery. The thesis documents the processes of post-war recovery with attention to the cultural resources mobilised in these key processes. In each of these areas the thesis assesses cultural consistency and change evidenced in the strategies of post-war recovery initiated by the population of the parish. Throughout the thesis priority is given to understanding the post-war cultural praxis through the perspective of the people of Nyadar. Heavy reliance is made on their idioms, narratives and voices.
On a theoretical level the thesis engages with the problem of finding a suitable anthropological model of cultural change to do justice to the ethnography of post war Nyadar. The thesis concludes that the only apt model of cultural change for the Nyadar material is the one proffered by the people of the parish themselves - that of a ‘return to life’. A ‘return to life’ refers to the return to conditions that allows personal efficacy and to conditions that are consistent with how Iteso people understand their cultural praxis and identity.
High profile is given in the thesis to the place of young people in processes of post-war recovery. It is argued that they are crucial actors in the transformation and conservation of cultural praxis in Nyadar for they reach the key stage of their life cycle in the conditions of post-war recovery.
3 4 CONTENTS
Page • LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND TABLES 10 ABBREVIATIONS 13 NOTES ON LANGUAGE 14 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 17
Chapter One INTRODUCTION “ 25 A Concern with Post-war Culture and Change 26 Approaching Culture and Change 39 Whose Post-war Recovery? 47 Nyadar Parish 52. Methodology 53
Chapter Two A HISTORY OF LIFE AND LOSS 63 THE HISTORY OF WAR AND PEACE IN TESO 63 Conflict in Teso 65 The UPA rebellion 66 The transition to peace 73 Post-conflict reconstruction in Teso 74 THE PERCEPTION OF WAR AND PEACE IN NYADAR 78 Life And Loss 80 The Pre-war period: Sitting well with Life 81 The War: Loss of ‘life’ 87 Narratives of the Conflict 91 The end of the War 92 Post-war Recovery: The Return to Life 94 The Markers of Recovery 98 The Vocabulary of Recovery 101
5 CONCLUSION: A RETURN TO LIFE 103 Reconciliation 106
Chapter Three RECOVERY IN THE HOME 119 THE PLACE OF THE ‘HOME’ IN SOCIO-CULTURAL ‘LIFE’ 119 Processes of recovery and socio-cultural transformation in the 121 home RESETTLEMENT 124 The motivation to re-settle 127 Re-building 128 Oditelcamp 130 ECONOMIC REGENERATION OF THE HOME 134 Agriculture 136 The organisation of agriculture 138 Agricultural trade 143 Other trade and business 144 The organisation of household economies 147 The household economy in time 148 EXPENDITURE FOR THE HOME 149 Material possessions 149 Livestock 153 Cattle 154 KINSHIP RELATIONS IN THE HOME: MARRIAGE AND BRIDEWEALTH 156 ~ Case study 157 FEMALE HEADED HOUSEHOLDS 167 KINSHIP RELATIONS BEYOND THE HOME: HOUSEHOLD AND LINEAGE 173 Case study 174 LOSS AND REUNIONS 178 CONCLUSION 180
Chapter Four YOUNG PEOPLE AND POST-WAR RECOVERY IN NYADAR 195 THE LIVES OF YOUNG PEOPLE 198
6 Managing one’s own gardens 200 Marriage 201 A Separate Household 203 Children 204 CULTURAL REPRESENTATIONS OF BEING ITUNANAK 204 From ‘kept’ to ‘keeping’ 205 Idioms of ‘ independence ’ 208 Active young people 210 Knowledge 211 Sociality 212 THE IMPACT OF THE WAR UPON THE LIVES OF YOUNG PEOPLE IN NYADAR 213 Impoverishment, ichan 214 Knowledge, acoa 216 RESOURCES USED BY THOSE GROWING UP IN THE POST WAR SITUATION IN NYADAR 218 Case studies 219 The resources of young people 221 From kinship to friendship? 224 ITUNANK AND THE POST-WAR RECOVERY AND REPRODUCTION OF SOCIETY 227 The family 227 Education 230 CONCLUSION 234
Chapter Five FROM CATTLE TO CASH: THE POST-WAR RECOVERY OF WEALTH 243 THE PLACE OF ‘WEALTH’ IN SOCIO-CULTURAL ‘LIFE’ 244 Cattle as wealth 246 HISTORICAL NOTIONS OF WEALTH IN TESO 247 Wealth in reconstruction: money 254 Money and cattle: continuity and change 259 MAKING, USING AND UNDERSTANDING MONEY IN THE POST-WAR PERIOD 259 Case studies 261
7 Principles of making and using money 264 Representations of money 269 CONCLUSION 272
Chapter Six EMOTIONAL RECOVERY 281 THE EMOTIONAL IMPACT OF THE WAR 283 Case studies 283 The Emotional Impact of War 287 The Emotional Result of War Experiences 291 EMOTIONAL RECOVERY 298 WIDER MECHANISMS FOR EMOTIONAL COMFORT 303 Naming 304 Plays 306 Narratives, awaragasia 308 Humourous memories 311 The materiality of peace 316 CONCLUSION 317
Chapter Seven THE COSMOLOGY OF RECOVERY 325 THE COSMOLOGY OF THE ITESO 327 THE COSMOLOGY OF RECOVERY 338 Interpreting the conflict 338 Understanding recovery 344 CONSISTENCY AND DIVERGENCY IN COSMOLOGICAL UNDERSTANDINGS 351 The place of combatants 353
Chapter Eight CONCLUSION 361
Appendix One HISTORIES 381 HISTORY OF TESO 381
8 POLITICAL HISTORY OF UGANDA 1862 - 1995 387 HISTORY OF NYADAR 392
Appendix Two KINSHIP TERMINOLOGY OF THE ITESO 397
Appendix Three RESULTS OF HOUSEHOLD SURVEY IN OTELA VILLAGE 403
Appendix Four RESULTS OF SURVEY CONDUCTED AMONGST SECONDARY SCHOOL STUDENTS 413
Appendix Five AUTOBIOGRAPHIES 427
Appendix Six DRAWINGS 447
BIBLIOGRAPHY 463
9 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND TABLES
PLATES
Page 1 Map of Uganda. Showing Teso region, location of major towns and ethnic groups. 19 2 Map of Katakwi and Soroti districts in Teso. Showing Kapelebyong Sub-County and sites of camps. 21 3 Photograph: Images from fieldwork. 61 4 Photograph: Return from Hell. Rt. Rev. Geresom Illukor, Anglican Bishop of Teso Province. Speaking at the conference ‘Teso Steps Forward with Peace: the challenges of socio-economic reconstruction’, Jan 1996. 113 5 Photograph: Aerial views of Nyadar. 115 6 Photograph: Rebuilding homesafter the war. 117 7 Photograph: Agriculture. 189 8 Photograph: Trade 191 9 Photograph: Beer 193 10 Photograph: The future. 241 11 Photograph: Wet money. 279 12 Photograph: Playing war. 323 13 Photograph: New beginnings 359 14 Photograph: Post-war recovery from the material to the cosmological. 379 15 Map of Otela Village. Showing distribution of household by clan membership. 407 16 Map: of Otela Village. Showing location of new households established since the end of the war. 411 17 Drawing:‘The best and worst day of my life.’ 447 18 Drawing: ‘The best and worst day of my life.’ 449
10 19 Drawing: ‘Rebels.’ 451 20 Drawing: ‘A beautiful home.’ 453 21 Drawing: ‘A beautiful home.’ 455 22 Drawing: ‘A beautiful home.’ 457 23 Drawing: ‘A beautiful home.’ 459 24 Drawing:‘What I will do when I am older.’ 461
FIGURES
3.1 Lineage of Biglio Opolot 175 7.1 Representation of one schema of cosmological belief in Nyadar 335 7.2 Representation of cosmological schema.held by Balokole Christians in Nyadar. 337 7.3 Causes of the conflict. 339 A2.1 Consanguinal Kin of the Iteso 397 A2.2 Affinal kin 398 A3.1 Lineages of Madera Clan in Otela village. 409
TABLES
3.1 Movement of households back to Otela from Oditel 125 3.2 Reasons given for remaining in Oditel camp 132 3.3 Yields of various crops in Teso District between 1975 and 1994. 138 3.4 Household income 186 3.5 Post-war household inventory 151 3.6 Items owned by households in Otela 151 3.7 Year and means of acquisition of bicycles in Otela village. 152 3.8 Cattle owned in Otela village 154 3.9 Number of cattle owned and lost by 16 men in 1979. 155 3.10 Means of acquisition of cattle in Otela. 155 3.11 Bridewealth payments demanded for 35 marriage unions in Otela 166 village 3.12 Status of post-war bridewealth in Otela 167 4.1 Impact of war on young people 214 4.2 The importance of education 232 4.3 The most important subject learnt at school. 232
11 4.4 ‘How did you raise last term’s school fees?’ 234 A2.1 Kinship terminology of the Iteso 399 A3.1 Household composition in Otela Village 403 A4.1 Ages of 82 first year secondary school students 413 A4.2 ‘How many children are there in your family?’ 414 A4.3 ‘Does your father have more than one wife?’ 414 A4.4 ‘Are you an orphan?’ 414 A4.5 ‘What was/is your fathers employment?’ 415 A4.6 ‘How many years of schooling have you missed?’ 415 A4.7 ‘What was your reason for missing school?’ 415 A4.8 ‘What level were your parents educated to?’ 416 A4.9 ‘Why is education important to you?’ 416 A4.10 ‘What is the most important thing you learn at school?’ 417 A4.11 ‘Who pays your school fees?’ 417 A4.12 ‘How did you raise last term’s school fees?’ 418 A4.13 ‘ How many bicycles/cows/ploughs do you have at home? ’ 418 A4.14 ‘Where do you get your pocket money from?* 419 A4.15 ‘Where do you get money for buying books and pens from?’ 420 A4.16 ‘Where do you get money for clothes from?’ 420 A4.17 ‘How many times have you been to aipakas this year?’ 421 A4.18 ‘Do you own animals of your own?’ 422 A4.19 ‘Which piece of personal property do you value the most?’ 422 A4.20 ‘What would you like to do in future?’ 423 A4.21 ‘What is the worst thing that ever happened to you?’ 423 A4.22 ‘Are you a ‘saved’ Christian?’ 423 A4.23 ‘What is your greatest fear?’ 424 A4.24 ‘What is the most important idea you have ever been given?’ 425 A4.25 ‘Where is the furthest place you ran to in the war?’ 425 A4.26 ‘What was the impact of the war on your life?’ 426
12 ABBREVIATIONS
CAFOD Catholic Foundation for Overseas Development CHIPS Christian Initiatives in Peace CMS Church Missionary Society DFID Department For International Development DPAC District Programme of Action for Children FOB A Fight Obote Back Again KY Kabaka Yekka LC Local Council MSF Medicine Sans Frontiers NGDO Non Government Development Organisation NGO Non Governmental Organisation NRA National Resistance Army. NRM National Resistance Movement. In power 1986 - present. Led by Youveri Museveni. NURP Northern Uganda Reconstruction Programme PAG Pentecostal Assemblies of God PCT Presidential Committee for Teso PTSD Post Traumatic Stress Disorder RC Resistance Council RUF Revolutionary United Front SDDP Soroti Diocese Development Programme SOCADIDO Soroti Catholic Diocese Development Office TDT Teso Development Trust UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNICEF United Nations Childrens Fund UNLA Uganda National Liberation Army UPC Uganda People’s Congress UPA Uganda People’s Army UPF Uganda People’s Front UWESO Uganda Women’s Effort to Save Orphans YWAM Youth With A Mission
13 NOTES ON LANGUAGE
The Ateso used throughout the thesis is that used colloquially by people in the place of fieldwork. It is written, as they themselves write it, using the Roman script. Therefore two points need to be noticed. First the grammatical construction of the Ateso used in the thesis might differ from that used elsewhere in Teso for there is wide variety both in grammatical construction and in pronunciation throughout the region. Second, the methods of writing Ateso in the thesis differs from that given in Hilders, J.H. & Lawrence, J.C. (1957) An Introduction to the Ateso Language. Kampala: the Eagle Press and in Kiggen, J. (1953) English-Ateso Dictionary. London: St Joseph’s Society for Foreign Missions, by the use of the Roman alphabet rather than the Ateso alphabet, which was introduced in the initial translation process.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Acoa Knowledge/clevemess/out-witting Ageun New beginning Agwayo Child soliders/reckers Aiboi To live/sit Aidar To keep/wait for Aijar Life Aimuket Struggle Ainakina To give a gift/ to breast feed Aingarakin To give assistance Aipakas Waged labour Aipuc Peace/normality Aisuh To create Aisup To woo Aitach To repay a loan Aitalaun To clean Aitapasik Disturbance Aitemokin To repair/prepare
14 Aitoolikin Confusion Aituk Cattle Aiyala Tojoke Aiyalong To fear Ajokar Better Ajokin Devil Ajokis Spirits Ajon Millet beer Akuju God Alea Work party/ to take turns Amina Love Amojong Elder Amunaare Spoilt/rotten/mad Amuron Traditional healer and spiritual leader Anapakin Peace Angalen Health/well-being Aomisio Thoughts/ideas/too much thinking Apoloor Growth/development Aronis Evil/death/grave Arujasia Dreams Atamakit Improvement Ateker Clan/lineage Ates Grave/bad happening Aturi Age Set Awaragasia Tales/stories Eapie Near Ebaritas Wealth/riches Ebuku Military Leader Echudan Wizard Edeke God Edwar Bitter Ejakite Lord Ejijim Sweet Ekaukau Backwards/in the past Ekek Family/door Ekel Family
15 Elai Clean/beautiful Elotar Moving forward Elwana Far Emusire Garden Epalal Rich/wet Epaupet Unmarried Partner Eswamana Active Etai Work party Etal Traditional healing Etem Locality Eteteun Made clean/beautiful Ichan Poverty/suffering Idwe Children Igogon Strong Ikelia Families Ikuriana Fear Ilalakara Jealousy Imorimor Iteso Cultural Leader Imusimum Ancestoral Spirits Ipiana Tasteless Isirigin Money Itelakarit Comfort Itunanak Young People Kabaka [Luganda] King of the Buganda Lauasuban God/creator Ndentikwa Reconciliation Nuk’aparasia Of these days/up to date Mamai Mother’s brother Ochalo Village Okwel Surprise! Oree Home Yoga Greetings
/= Shilling, unit of Ugandan currency. £1 = 2 000/=
16 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are many who have contributed to the genesis and completion of this thesis; I acknowledge all these contributions with deep gratitude. The research was made possible by a grant from the Economic and Social Research Council of the United Kingdom. Funding was also received from the Royal Anthropological Institute (Radcliffe Brown/Sutasoma Award). In Uganda fieldwork was conducted under affiliation with the Makerere Institute of Social Research, Makerere University, Kampala. I acknowledge research permission from the Uganda National Council for Science and Technology and the help of Patrick Madaya to secure this.
I wish to thank Frances Pine for initial direction and help in formulating the original idea and the department of Anthropology at the London School of Economics for an excellent working environment. I particularly thank Peter Loizos and Henrietta Moore for their large role in overseeing this work. It has been a privilege to have two supervisors so clear minded and encouraging. I am grateful for all the concern and interest they have shown, not only during the writing stages but also whilst I was in Uganda. I have also benefited greatly from fellow students in the thesis writing group, from their insightful comments on my work and from their empathy, friendship and humour.
There are many in London who gave invaluable support. I thank Margaret Bothwell, Anne Seal, Annick Saliman and Hazel Johnson for administrative assistance, Nick Cately for computing advice, Tony Ekodeu for initial language teaching. I would like to thank John Maitland for taking me to the January 1996 Presidential Commission for Teso conference and John and Jean Wheatley-Price for the loan of their Ateso dictionaries. I thank Brian and Rachel Griffiths and my parents, Robert and Gill de Beny for the benefit of beautiful housing and comfortable space for writing. I also thank all those whom, with letters, patience, commitment and kindness, have lived through this thesis with me; my family, Owenna Griffiths and Gerry Mitchell to name but a few.
My debt to those who helped me in Uganda is again large. I thank those who offered me accommodation and refuge at various points, both in Kampala and in Soroti; Peter and Hilary Bewes, Val Sheen, Mark Williams, George and Florence Erwau, Geresom Illukor, Peter and Catherine Tukei, Justin Eumu. I would like to thank them and Mark Leopold,
17 Kate Muammar, Ashley Inselman, Ralph Weber, Julia McDade, Brian Darling and Chris and Ruth Butler for all the times they saw me through both difficult events and various illnesses. I am especially grateful to Graham Gordon, Barney de Berry, Tom Benyon and my parents for visiting me in the field and to Sarah Oppenheimer for a blissful holiday in Kenya.
I am again grateful to Brian Darling and Fr Ralph Weber, Fr Carl, Dariusz Rupar and John Hodison of Achumet Catholic Mission for initial introductions to Oditel. The time they gave and continued concern was deeply appreciated. I acknowledge the local research permission given by the Chief Administrative Officer, Mrs Akol and the Sub County Chief of Kapelebyong. I was supported by the Parish Chiefs of Nyadar and Amatseniko, Nelson Amou and John Ejulu. I acknowledge the opportunities to interview school children granted by William Adongu, Headmaster of Oditel Primary School, Scipio Lawrence, Headmaster of Nyadar Primary School and the Headmasters of Achumet Primary and Secondary Schools as well as the permission to interview church congregations by Opolot Micheal and the Rev Darlington.
The people of Nyadar are owed a collective vote of thanks for their hospitality, openness and acceptance throughout my fieldwork. I was overwhelmed by their commitment to my research, to the protection they offered and the numerous occasions on which they put my comfort above their own. I thank especially all those who organised interviews, group discussions and translated for me; Ketty Akol, Pettua Agouti, Jane Acuro, Stephen Eyamu, Aminu Sam, Ongole Israel, Oluka James, Ceceilia Ayolo, James Okiror, Ejulu John Junior and Apedu Moses. I acknowledge all those who assisted in the transcribing and translation of interviews, Rachel Akol, Frieda Acen, Ekolu Emmanuel, Okello Emmanuel, Patrick Owki. I wish to pay especial tribute to the work of the late Micheal Emulu. Much of the sensitivity of the translations in this thesis is due to him. His commitment to my work was one I only realised when it was too late to thank him personally.
Most of all I acknowledge my deepest gratitude to William and Lucy Adongu in whose family I lived both in Oditel and later in Nyadar. They gave me a home; the greatest of all gifts. I thank them and their children for building me a house to live in, providing my meals, bearing though my mistakes and ineptitude and giving me valued company. Without Lucy, Amunyo and Adero I know I would have lacked the laughter and understanding that saw me through. Idaari.
18 Plate 1: MAP OF UGANDA. Showing Teso district, location of major towns and ethnic groups.
SUDAN
IADI MADI ■ Kitgum UGBAR, ACHOLI ■ Arua ■G ulu KARAMOJONG
Moroffo LANGI Nile ■Lira ITESO DRC Masim ■Soroti
H oim a Lake Kyoga ball BANYORO .Nile GISI BUGANDA Tororoi KAMPALA Jinja KENYA
■ K asese BAYANKOLE
M a sa k a ■
■ Mbarara Lake Victoria BAKIGA
K abale TANZANIA
RWANDA
19 20 Piate 2: MAP OF SOROTI AND KATAKWI DISTRICTS IN TESO. Showing Kapelebyong sub-county and sites of camps during the war (in red).
Katawi
KARAMOJA
KAPELEBYONG
MOROTO yX,
KATAKWI
SOROTI
MBALE
21 22 “Let me tell you about those days. In those days there was no peace, there was only killing and fear. Those were days of running, of sleeping in the bush, hiding with your children, thinking “I am going to die. I am going to leave my children alone in this world” In those days there was no salt. All the food was tasteless. Can you imagine that; no salt, no sugar? One time I did not taste sugar for eight months. Oh! We really suffered. In those days the earth was bad and we suffered too much [But] now the earth is quiet and we have peace. Now we are picking up and moving on....now we are people of life.”
Florence Erwau, 35, Soroti, Teso, 3.10.97
23 24 INTRODUCTION
This thesis is an ethnographic account of Nyadar parish in the Teso region of northeast Uganda. The people of Nyadar, like those throughout Teso, are emerging from a recent history of armed conflict. Between 1979 and 1992 Teso was engulfed by civil war.1 It was a conflict that brought profound suffering and loss. Between 1979 and 1986 the Iteso were subject to armed cattle raiding at the hands of their neighbours, the Karamojong. In the course of this raiding, large herds of cattle, which had long been the source of wealth and productivity in Teso, were stripped from the area, many people were killed and homes destroyed. In 1987, partly in response to this cattle raiding, a ‘rebel’ army called the Uganda People’s Army (UPA) was formed in Teso. Between 1987 and 1991 the region was ravaged by war as the UPA fought against the then newly formed government of Uganda, the National Resistance Movement (NRM) under the leadership of Youveri Museveni. The UPA opposed the establishment of NRM government in Teso and aimed to win national power. The ensuing fighting between the government National Resistance Army (NRA) and the UPA was brutal and destructive. Many were killed in public and bloody ways and there was widespread material impoverishment. In 1989, as a measure to curb the UPA rebellion, Museveni ordered the movement of people in Teso off their homelands and into settlement camps. Thousands were displaced into such camps, living in conditions of extreme crudity until the end of the conflict. When the conflict finally drew to a close in 1992 the way of life that people in Teso had enjoyed up to the late 1970s had been all but destroyed.
This thesis documents how the people of Nyadar have recovered from this recent war. It follows the processes by which those in the parish have returned home out of the camp into which they had been displaced, and have set into motion processes of post-war recovery. There is attention given to the strategies people in
25 Nyadar have used to regain a degree of economic, social and emotional security.
By considering these processes of recovery the thesis explores the question of what has happened to the patterns of Iteso social and cultural life in Nyadar following the conflict. The thesis questions what the impact of war, of profound suffering and substantial loss, and the subsequent period of re-building has had on a way of life in Teso. It gives ethnographic answers to the following questions: what cultural resources have been mobilised in the process of post war recovery and thereby reproduced? To what extent do the processes of post war recovery in Nyadar evidence a cultural resilience and reconstruction? What endures and what is changed after a way of life has been all but destroyed through twelve years of political conflict? To what extent do the processes of recovery involve cultural innovation and change?
A concern with post-war culture and change.
My concern with the evidence of continuity and change in a post war culture is one that arises from a period of fieldwork in Nyadar just four years after the end of the conflict. For the eighteen months between September 1996 and March 1998 that I lived in Nyadar the themes and practicalities of post-war recovery were uppermost on people’s minds. I lived alongside people whose daily praxis reflected all that they had lost in the war and all that they struggled to regain. Thus the recent war was the lens through which they viewed all their daily endeavours; all that they did was a statement of what they had suffered and the possibility or impossibility of being able to recover. The apparently mundane actions of rebuilding a house, planting a field of crops or buying a new item of clothing were things that had not been possible during the war and had involved a struggle to re- achieve. The way people now managed to do them in Nyadar was a comment on consistency and change in their culture.
My aim is for the thesis to attest to a civilian engagement with political violence through a specific socio-cultural world. It is not just the experience of fieldwork in Nyadar that motivates me to this end: there are also indications in the literature
26 from different quarters that this is a valid project. To start I consider four bodies of literature each of which lends justification to the project. These four bodies of literature are: accounts that focus upon the nature of contemporary conflict throughout the world; those that consider the nature of individual psychological trauma arising from experiences of extreme violence; those that arise from the perspective of humanitarian intervention; previous anthropological approaches to political conflict. It is the conglomeration of the direction in which all these bodies of literature are moving that constitutes my starting point, the importance of considering post-war cultural continuity and change. The theoretical task I then tackle is how to find a suitable model of change that can best accommodate the ethnography from post-war Nyadar.
There is, first, an increasing body of literature that acknowledges the scale, context and nature of armed conflict in the contemporary world. At present there are so many countries which host collective armed conflict both within and between their borders, it stands to reason that the contexts and cultures in which that violence is played out are very different. Indeed Allen (1999: 18) argues that the term ‘war’ itself is not an absolute definition of a state of violence but is a label applied in different contexts and according to the purposes of the actors involved. It is a definition that may confer a certain assumed status to very different sets of circumstances.
At the same time what is common to collective violence in the contemporary world is that the proportion of intra-state civil conflict compared to inter-state war has increased over the last century (Allen 2000: 168). Kaldor (1997: 8) has suggested the proliferation of what she calls “New Wars” - wars internal to state boundaries - in the context of the end of the Cold War and the corresponding decline of “Clausewitzean War”- defined as war between centralised states. This framework is misleading for it suggests that prior to the Cold War political conflict has never been fought internal to state boundaries (Allen - personal communication). What is indeed new, however, is the proportion of internal wars to inter-state war. There has been proliferation of situations where the legitimacy of the state is questioned and fragmented or has even collapsed through internal
27 collective violence (Senghaas 1987: 6). This was the situation in Teso in the recent past; the conflict there arose from a post independence history of Uganda in which the composition of state structures (parliaments, ministries and armies), and access to state power was highly contested. The conflict in Teso saw the rebel UPA army vie for state control against the centralising force of the NRM government.
These civil wars tend to be fought not so much with expensive and grandiose technology but with more easily available small arms (Allen 2000: 8). Small arms make the process of killing less expensive and more widely achievable - even children can handle many of the modem light weapons of war. It is the rising proportion of conflict fought on this scale that accounts for the high civilian involvement in war. Over the last century there has been a clear trend of increasing civilian casualties from political conflict (Dyregov & Raundalen 1987: 109).3 As in Teso, internal conflict also involves massive population displacement, numbers of refugees and social and economic destruction for the civilian communities involved and tends to generate low level violence and conflict that may continue to destabilise civilian populations for years to come.
Indeed a fundamental feature of these civil wars is the making of civilian communities into battlegrounds as a strategy of securing political control (Becker 1990: 105, De Waal 1997a: 312-313); communities are deliberately destabilised, loyalties are created through fear and distmst. Acts of violence, such as graphic mutilation, rape, the use of land mines, punishing a whole community for the act of one person, inflicting seemingly random attacks, all serve to devastate the social and psychological life of civilians (Kaldor 1997: 15). This strategy promotes social disenfranchisement, undermining the social systems and networks that give people security. The aim of this policy is to permeate the entire fabric of socio-cultural and political relations with violence and fear, creating states of terror (Summerfield 1996: 43) that undermine people’s ways of life and the possibility of generating social mobilisation and resistance. Thus wars erode the cultural, civil, political and economic integrity of societies. In consequence community members may turn against each other in brutal violence, in ways
28 which would have been previously unimaginable. The conflict is Bosnia has been marked by killings between those who were once neighbours with the precise aim of destroying former attachments of neighbourliness (Bourgarel 1996: 104).
Since they are fought on civilian battlegrounds, civil wars have far-reaching impact on the lives of children and ‘youth’. Many conflicts are fuelled through the frustrations and identities of young people who seek redress for perceived wrongs in their social and political position. Young soldiers are a common feature of civil conflicts. Around the world there are large numbers of children and young people who hold guns, engage in violence and devise strategies of political activism. Brett and McCallin (1998: 9), who base their work on the large scale UN Graca Machel Study on Children in Armed Conflict, estimate that there are at least 300,000 children presently participating in armed conflicts. This phenomenon is particularly widespread in Africa (Furley 1995: 28; Zack-Williams 1999: 2).
Young fighters may enter armies through forced conscription and abduction or through their own volition. Many may be motivated by an experience of violence against their homes and communities, by emotions of helplessness, fear or revenge, others by political, religious or familial influence (Cohn & Goodwin-Gill 1994: 40; Brett and McCallin 1998: 57). The time of fighting has been shown to have immense influence on the social relations and identities of young fighters. Richards (1997: 79) has described how young rebels enter the RUF rebel movement in Sierra Leone as a culture in itself with social bonds created through initiation, patron client ties and imagined kinship. This shaping of identity affects the re-integration of young soldiers into their home communities once the conflict is over. The consensus is that the consequences for children of their becoming child soldiers are overwhelmingly negative - especially in respect of their emotional wellbeing (McCallin 1998: 67). Children are used precisely because they are more easily exploited and expendable and thus often fight in conditions of deprivation and extreme violence. They are taken from social support networks of kin and are witness to acts of extreme brutality. They experience fear and anxiety and are prone to physical injury. Both girl and boy soldiers are often victims of sexual abuse (Maslan 1998: 445). The adverse effects on the
29 psychological, physical and social wellbeing of child soldiers extend beyond the time of fighting. When those who were child soldiers return home from their armies they often find themselves alien to peacetime systems of social support and the process of re-adjustment can itself be traumatic (Rogge 1994: 44; Maslan 1998: 450).
Young people are not only affected by war through their role as combatants. There are also those who are bom into and grow up in communities affected by political conflict and who face the loss of social infrastructure, of opportunities for education and health, and of members of family and kin (Boyden 1994: 259; Kuper 1997: 1). In these cases children and young people grow up and achieve maturity in conditions of loss and impoverishment, in a context where their resources may be veiy different from those of generations before them. Wars thus strike at the heart of socio-cultural life, for the young, who will reproduce a way of life into the next generation, are irreversibly affected by collective violence.
It is this well documented recognition of the nature of contemporary armed violence that makes it apposite to pose the questions ‘What happens to a way of life as a result of war, a war in which social securities and networks are as much the victims of the conflict as are individual casualties. What survives and what is changed?’ These questions are not ones that can be answered through political analysis and because of this, the thesis is not primarily about the political background to or resolution of the conflict in Teso, although I consider these briefly in Chapter Two. The political aspects of the conflict in Teso have been dealt with elsewhere (Henriques 2000). The politics of post war recovery were, anyway, not what the majority of people in Nyadar considered as a priority. For them to talk of the politics of the conflict was to talk on a potentially dangerous subject that might hold serious implications. When they did talk of politics it was always conceived of in material terms and in the degrees of economic and emotional security offered in political processes and negotiations after the conflict. In line with this I have given greater weight to these socio-cultural processes of recovery.
30 In Chapter Two I embed the political history of conflict and peace in Teso in the local understandings that people in Nyadar held of these different eras. Throughout the thesis the history of post-war recovery is told through their narratives, idioms and daily life. For I wish to acknowledge what the accounts above attest to: that conflict, such as the one in Teso, does not just occur as a political event but is a deeply embedded occurrence, experienced through the personal relations of a specific cultural life. It is the very fabric of cultural life that is directly targeted in the kind of civil conflict played out in Teso. For three years, for example, the people of Nyadar lived in settlement camps and were disenfranchised from their homes, land and normal pattern of social relationships. Post-war recovery in Nyadar is about repairing the cultural fabric that was so grievously damaged. This thesis documents how this has been done and with what result.
Second, from critiques of psychological approaches concerned with individual trauma in armed violence, comes an impetus to consider the impact of war in socio-cultural rather than individual terms. Over the last decade there has been increasing interest in understanding conflict not just as a historical event but as an experience that can have devastating effects on people’s emotional wellbeing. The increasing recognition given to psychiatric theories of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) from 1980 onwards raised awareness that both civilians and combatants may be subject to deep psychological stress during conflict and may, subsequently, have severe psycho-social needs (Reichenberg & Friedman 1995: 313).4 This has, in turn, raised the credibility of research and intervention that recognises the psychological consequences of violence and takes account of contributing and protective factors (Wemer & Smith 1992: 3).5 Emotional and psychological ‘trauma’ has become a common part of descriptions of the impact of political conflict. Much work has been focused upon the susceptibility of children to psychological trauma in conflict. In terms of the nature of much contemporary conflict outlined above, this is a step in the right direction, for it acknowledges the psychological consequences of the experience of violence for civilians as well as combatants, and highlights their psycho-social suffering.
31 Such research has, however, acquired a critical edge since the explosion of provision by western overseas development agencies for trauma counselling in post-conflict areas abroad. A contention has been raised that, since such programmes are conceived and delivered by outsiders, they are loaded with assumptions about the psychological impact of violence that are inappropriate to the post conflict society involved. The query has arisen as to whether it is “possible to describe and understand the impact of war-related trauma among non-western patients by employing psychiatric categories which have emerged from the experiences of Western patients in clinical settings?” (Parker 1996: 265).
One of the contributions of the study of ‘ethnopsychology’ has been a critique of taken-for-granted assumptions about the domain of the psychological with recognition of the historical and culturally produced understandings encoded in psychological theories (White 1992: 21). In this light PTSD can be seen as a diagnostic tool from a specific ethnopsychological tradition: psychiatry of western origin. Psychiatry uses the language of biomedical discourse and thus promises universal applicability (Bracken 1993: 663). Gaines (1992) argues that the discourse obscures the encoding of a particular historical and cultural voice with an implicit standard of normalcy: that of a north Germanic adult notion of self. The result, suggests Gaines, is less a classification of disease than a creation of a psychiatric space for definitions of abnormality compared to an ideal person perceived as psychologically constant, egocentric, individualised and self controlled. Young (1995) has documented this very process in the ‘discovery’ of PTSD itself. PTSD was developed as a diagnosis of the untamed memories of Vietnam War veterans - memories, which did not fit with Western ideal of self- control. PTSD was a product of its age but has become understood as universally and timelessly applicable. The acceptance of PTSD has placed the taming of memory in the hands of medical experts with specific technology.
The danger of applying PTSD in non-western setting is that the export of western psychiatric definitions is an export of classificatory categories, which actually rarely fits with the reality and variety of experiences of psychological health by
32 people in the west anyway (Moore 1993: 35). To understand those classifications with resort to empirical and biomedical terms is to export overseas a particular cultural and historical assumption about normalcy and deviance and the nature of persons.
Summerfield (1996: 14) argues that to use PTSD as a diagnostic tool is to study the distribution of symptoms and syndromes (which are assumed to be prior to, and independent of, research) in various cultures and to assume the universal applicability of the nosologies because of the notion of a universal working of the person. The use of PTSD also involves imposing judgment about who needs - and what constitutes - effective treatment. This brings the possibility of inappropriate policy. For the use of PTSD as a diagnostic tool particularly encourages individualistic therapy as a solution to psychological disorder (Boyden 1994: 257). Such responses might not be culturally apposite. Summerfield, Gillier and Bracken (1995: 1074) note that an individualization of the suffering of the person involved tends to a psychotherapy that might be inappropriate in more ‘sociocentric’ societies. There are also ideological issues at work in the labelling of reactions to political violence as PTSD, such a label asserts scientific authority and stresses the need for western expertise for healing, discounting community initiatives. Swartz and Levett (1989: 743) point out that the labelling of black children in South Africa as ‘psychologically corrupted’ was highly political. Because of these dangers it has been argued that providing assistance for those so labelled as psychologically distressed with western expertise can lead to intervention abroad that is, at best, superfluous and, at worst, does more harm than good.6 This contention has been especially levelled at intervention directed at children. Once again it is argued that welfare policy and practice for the mental health of children affected by violence is often guided by unsubstantiated, decontextualised and frequently ethnocentric assumptions about the nature of children and their needs (e.g. Richman 1996: 19; Boyden 1994; Burman 1994).
Bracken (1993) has suggested that the correction to the possible ethnopsychological assumptions that underlie research with, and intervention for, those emotionally affected by violence is an anthropological approach which
33 draws out particular ethnographic experiences, understandings and dealings with the emotional impact and consequences of conflict. Summerfield, Bracken and Gillier (1995: 1077) suggest a framework for such an approach which must incorporate the subjective meaning of violence and trauma, the way in which distress associated with violence is experienced, reported and managed, the type and extent of support available, and the type of therapy available and appropriate.
What this means for research in Teso, is not to focus on the concept of ‘trauma’ with all its overtones of western individual psychology but to use the definition that Iteso people themselves give of their emotional devastation; that of ichan - ‘loss/suffering’. This involves a concern with the socio-cultural construction of ichan and the cultural resources employed to resolve it. Ichan is both an emotional and material concept and calls for a holistic perspective, one that considers that often the most important aspect of emotional healing within communities after political conflict is the rebuilding of social and material relations and processes (Cohn & Goodwin-Gill 1994: 109; Summerfield et al 1995: 1079). In ichan the material and phenomenological are inextricably linked and dictate a concern with socio-cultural rather than individual dimensions of suffering and recovery.
Third, from critiques of the precepts of humanitarian intervention in conflict areas we again get impetus to focus on the cultural resources that people themselves use for post war recovery. There is considerable intervention by Non Government Development Organisations (NGDOs) and multinational aid agencies in post conflict areas around the world and concern for the devastation being caused by the proliferation of internal civil conflict. In recent years there has been critique of such welfare intervention that is formulated from beyond the local context where it is applied. There has been particular critique of the way in which beneficiaries of development interventions are characterised as passive ‘vulnerable’ and ‘victims’ (de Waal 1997b: 82). Allen (1989: 47) has argued that it is time to reformulate the perspective on those who suffer from disasters such as political conflict: “How do people manage to maintain and persistently reconstruct viable ways of life? Surely that is the most important question in micro-level analysis of disasters in Africa”.
34 The evidence is that time and again those who have suffered devastating historical events have shown the resilience to recovery from the consequences. For example Lind (1994) describes the community initiatives of women in Peru coping with urban poverty in the aftermath of structural adjustment policies. Payne (1996: 28) remarks on the rapid reconstruction of buildings and trade in the Ikafe refugee settlement in north Uganda whose population had fled from Sudan. Indeed the social history of much of the south of Uganda between 1986 and the present is one characterised by people, who bear the impact of widespread conflict and war in their lives, taking the opportunities for development and reconstruction afforded by peace (Hansen & Twaddle 1991: 1). As Brett (1996: 205) notes, Uganda is widely recognised for its success in regaining security and progress. The sense of improvement and change, of history in the making, is palpable in Uganda, a country whose national history has long been marked by conflict. Uganda provides an ideal location for the study of post conflict recovery and hope.
In addition there has been critique of welfare intervention formulated from beyond the context in which it is applied, as undermining people’s own resilience and initiative in dealing with the difficulties that confront them. Development agencies are increasingly recognising the importance of alternative, grass-roots approaches to development processes (Craig & Mayo 1995: 1). There has been significant decentralisation in development thinking and for NGDOs involved in development (Harriss 1997: 928). In post-conflict areas this has entailed the recognition that the coping capacities of indigenous communities provide foundations for projects of recovery (Reichenberg & Friedman 1995: 323; Johnson et al 1995: 1; Simpson 1997: 478). There is increasing concern to document local mechanisms of recovery considering them as being the most apposite and effective resources upon which development bodies can build (Reicehnberg & Friedman 1994: 323). This is echoed in the development literature with moves to recognise the potential of the ‘social capital’ within communities for development initiatives (Putnam 1993: 167). Social capital is defined variously in the literature. Thin (1998: 52) defines it as it as: “...the fabric
35 of society, the interconnected web of relationships, units and values such as organisations, networks, common pool regimes, behavioural norms, information flows and attitudes that constitute a society’s stability, integrity and promote development. Social safety nets are part of social capital.” This definition is none too far from a concept of culture. In focusing upon social capital, intervention organisations are acknowledging that the ability to cope can exist within people’s social and cultural resources and suggest these need documentation.
Olara Otunnu, the Special UN Representative for Children in Extreme Situations, has outlined what he saw as the new prerogative for non-governmental and civil society organisation (2000: 54). He acknowledges that the violence of much contemporary armed conflict is such that it undermines local value systems, tearing at the fabric of societal trust and cooperation through cruelty and terror. Yet he sees post-war societies can only be rebuilt through recourse to “ethnical renewal”: the re-creation of value systems that are rooted in traditional community based initiatives. He urges for research into local values for protection and welfare, especially for children. If so much is being asked of cultural values and projects of post-war recovery then it is essential to ask, as I do in Teso, what survives and what is changed by a period of conflict.
Fourth, from a critique of previous anthropological approaches to war and political conflict, there is impetus to study the social and cultural dimensions of political violence as something lived and experienced in an embedded and embodied way. Goldshmidt (1986: 3) has argued that there needs to be a move away from more traditional anthropological approaches to conflict which have commonly focused on the structural regulations effected by political violence (e.g. Fried et al 1968) or the macro political causations of war (e.g. Haas 1990). Instead he argues for a dynamic perspective on the experience of war.
What might constitute a ‘dynamic’ anthropological perspective on war? Allen (1999) has suggested a framework that includes the anthropological consideration of the role of constructed ethnicity, collective violence and the media in war. Greenhome (1987: 37-43) approves the shift in anthropological explanations as to
36 the causes of war from notions of material competition, to political explanations and most recently to awareness of social change and issues of constructed identities as factors in the emergence of collective violence. Thus, for example, Ferguson & Whitehead (1992: 5) stress the need for conceptual frameworks for understanding conflict which stress historical process and ethnographic patterns. Zur (1993: 15) and likewise Green (1994: 228) have advocated study of the “lived experience” of conflict and post conflict situations because they are a period of profound and traumatic social change for the people concerned. They propose the study not only of the local conflict events, but also a study of how people experience and understand those events in terms of their “harsh impact” (Green ibid) and meaning. Theirs is a concern with an actor orientated approach: how people are personally affected by political conflict and how they actively confront and respond to violence and its aftermath. There is increasing awareness of the emotional, social and constructed aspects of political conflict, as well as the political, military and historical. Thus Isla (1998) describes the expression and experience of terror conducted against Argentinean rural workers by the government in the 1970s and 1980s. James (1997) writes of the experience of fear amongst Uduk refugees caught between fighting parties in Sudan. Das (1998: 109) examines the understandings held by those involved in violence in India in the 1980s, how motivating hatred was produced and circulated, creating enmity between Hindus and Sikhs.
Once again here is a realisation that the history of war is not just about political circumstances but is a history that impacts on a personal and social level. Indeed war can become a culture in itself. The impact of the violence of civil wars, the destabilising of civilian communities, the incorporation of violence into people’s identity, the prevalence of arms and the social and economic devastation entailed, continues, even after military peace has been accomplished. For war is a very obvious way in which the past intrudes upon the present and a “lived experience” of political conflict is as much about what happens after the conflict as it is about the violent events of that war (Bennet, Bexley, Wamock 1995: 2). For example people in Teso continue to deal on a day-to-day basis with the economic impact of the war in their area and the impoverishment it has brought. All over the world,
37 where people have experienced the suffering and loss of war, they bear those scars into the period of post-war recovery. It is a situation eloquently described by a woman from West Beirut:
“The real experience of war is not the shelling, those are just the moments, though those are the ones you see on TV. War is what happens afterwards, the years of suffering hopelessly with a disabled husband and no money or struggling to rebuild when all your property has been destroyed.” (Quoted in Bennet et al 1995: 267).
The experience of war may also intrude upon a psychological and emotional present, in the memories people hold of what they have witnessed and lost.
Anthropologists are beginning to demand that political violence be seen as a way of life with specific consequences for social and cultural relations. This demand is enhanced by the increasing anthropological interest, discussed below, in historical change. The anthropological study of war is the study of disruptive social change, often violent and horrific. It has the potential to reconfigure anthropology further away from the study of stability and regulation to the study of life amongst tumult and transformation.
The thesis is thus located at the apex of four strands in the study of political conflict: awareness of the contemporary nature of armed conflict, critiques of individual psychological perspectives, changing perspectives in humanitarian intervention, and changing anthropological approaches to political conflict. All four bodies of literature stress the need to see the experience of war as embedded in social and cultural life. They highlight the need to document the socio-cultural resources that people rely upon to resolve the consequences of violence and to document how socio-cultural life is changed by a period of conflict or preserved by the people’s resilience and strategies of coping that perpetuate cultural ways of life. Even without the background of these four critiques, Soedjakmoko (1987: 294) suggests that this is an important question for research in itself. He states that whilst there has been increasing interest in the role of socio-historical change in causing political conflict, there has been less attention given to the extent to
38 which political conflict ushers in social and cultural change after the violent events. He suggests that an experience of war might subsequently involve people looking backwards in a revival of traditional values, people looking to other cultural traditions or attempting to define a new configuration of socio-cultural values around which to reconstruct their lives. This thesis explores which of these permutations are occurring in Teso.
Approaching Culture and Change
To ask such questions of the daily life processes of post war recovery in Nyadar involves engaging with anthropological debates over culture and historical change. In the past, anthropological analysis has often looked askance at the analysis of historical change, placing it without rather than within the remit of study. For example, Radcliffe-Brown advocated ahistorical accounts of structure and role in society (Kuper 1983: 65). Later, adoption of Levi-Straussian contributions to the study of synchronic time mitigated against the influences of Leach and Gluckman who sought to open debates on states of social change (Gell 1992: 29). More recently, however, there has been acceptance that “anthropology can become more anthropological by becoming historical” (Cohn 1987: 42) and that social life must be seen as constructed, lived and transformed. For a post war society such as Nyadar it is the catastrophic losses that history can bring and the subsequent processes of recovery that must be central to the study of ongoing cultural and social life.
In placing the thesis firmly within current concerns for a historical perspective on culture there are two central difficulties confronted in this literature that must be considered at the outset. First, what notion of culture is useful for assessing the processes of post-war recovery in Nyadar? Second, what model of interaction between historical events that bring devastating loss and cultural corpus is apposite for the Iteso case?
There is difficulty in defining a notion of culture through recourse to anthropological analysis. On the one hand, the notion has been used in a vacuous
39 and nebulous way without definition but with an assumption that users of the word more or less understand what they are talking about. On the other hand ‘culture’ has been used with ideological overtones of supremacy or civilisation (Kuper 1999: 2). In addition, different analysts have put forward different models of culture, highlighting for example components of power (Foucault), conceptual boundaries (Douglas), individual subjectivity (Berger) or communication (Habermas) (Wuthnow et al 1984: 240), symbolism (Geertz), mythopraxis (Sahlins) or multiculturalism (Marcus and Fischer) (Kuper 1999). To choose one of these models of culture to apply to the Iteso case is to frame the analysis in one particular way. Instead what I have done is to use a notion of culture based upon the definition of people in Teso themselves. This is the concept given expression in the Ateso word ‘life’ - aijar.
When people in Teso explain their ways of doing things, they say “eipone lu aijar wok’\ literally “those are the manners of our life”. ‘Life’ - aijar, thus refers to a ‘way of life’ and it is the substance of this ‘way of life’ that I use as the notion of culture in the thesis. ‘Culture’ as I use it here, refers to the structures of meaning and practices that constitute local understandings of what it is to be a person in Teso and of what is the proper ordering of social life. These understandings are not free-floating or ahistorical traits of cultural essentialism; they are a body of moral praxis grounded in systems of social organisation and in personal experience. It is this body of moral praxis that gives what it is to be an Itesot coherence and difference from what it is to be another kind of person. This concept of culture resonates with Bourdieu’s notion of ‘habitus’ where people are predisposed to act in certain social ways by the influence of cultural capital transmitted to them in their upbringing (1972). These predispositions are expressed and constituted in meaningful practice. In contrast to Bourdieu, however, I focus upon the moral praxis which gives being Iteso, rather than one particular class within the Iteso, a cultural coherence. I find the content of this body of moral praxis in Teso in the understandings and behaviour of Iteso people themselves. I make heavy reliance throughout the thesis on the idioms and metaphors people in Nyadar use to describe and articulate their humanity, their emotions and principles of daily life. I use the local understandings that people in
40 Nyadar themselves see as important in explaining their priorities and practices.
In this way ‘life’ - aijar, is a concept of corporate identity; it refers to an Iteso ‘way of life’. In Chapter Two I look further at what this ‘way of life’ means for people in Teso and show how both the substance and image of a ‘way of life’ has been historically formed. But the word aijar works on another level too. It refers to the personal ability to be the person one would like to be. Those who are said to have ‘life’ in Teso are those whose praxis is in line with what is considered to be an effective example of what it is to be a person. In other words the concept of ‘life’ includes the notion of personal agency; the ability to act within and enjoy a ‘way o f life’.7
What has been the impact of war and loss upon this ‘life’ in Teso? How has historical event, in this case the history of war and post war recovery, interacted with the socio-cultural corpus of moral praxis? Again there is a difficulty of finding a suitable model for this kind of social change. Much anthropological work attests to the resilience of cultural mores or social structure despite the upheaval of historical events and suggests a conservative model for the interaction of cultural praxis and event. Precedent is given for a conservative notion of cultural reproduction after loss in the anthropological literature on grief. There is evidence that communities respond to the loss of individual persons in ways that affirm the ongoing social structure and reproduction of cultural themes (e.g. Bloch and Parry 1982).
On a wider level, Marris (1974: 5) has suggested that the nature of socio-cultural change during historical events of loss is shaped by a “conservative impulse”. He argues that people will assimilate and interpret events through existing structures of understanding and emotional attachment: through previous “structures of meaning” which insure predictability. To do so they struggle to recover or defend patterns of relationships. The structures of meaning employed are both cultural and individual. In this way religious interpretations may be used, providing discourses for meaning and a form of social action that allows people to have a hold on and direct events. This model finds resonance in ethnographies of those
41 who have live through war and conflict. Brown and Fernandez (1991: 213) describe understandings amongst the Ashanika people of Peru who joined the MIR guerrilla group in 1965. Ashanika people understood the contemporary conflict as continuous with both mythical symbolisms, thereby conserving and perpetuating such cosmological discourses (c.f. Lan 1985: 225). Religion and ritual is often conserved and used as a medium of continuity in times of crisis (Chicuecue 1997: 485; Comaroff 1985: 252). In the same way kinship structures may provide a social and ideological institution for maintaining continuity in times of upheaval and loss. Colson (1971: 82) shows how the Tonga of Zambia, undergoing resettlement, intensified kinship interaction for emotional and substantive support before the upheaval. Kinship then provided structures of organisation during the dislocation.
In the “conservative impulse” model of the interaction between historical event and cultural corpus, a cultural body of moral praxis is central to people’s ability to cope with the historical events in which they are engaged, and for that reason is conserved and perpetuated despite the suffering and loss of the event. Marcus (1986: 165) suggests that those who see this model of change in their ethnographic research follow a “redemptive mode” of anthropology. Here “the ethnographer demonstrates the survival of distinctive and authentic cultural systems despite undeniable changes.” Much of the anthropological description of indigenous people’s engagement with the incursions of colonialism and potential loss of a way of life follow this model (e.g. Bloch and Parry 1989). Anthropologists have shown how people faced with the disenchantment or marginalisation of conditions of modernity draw on what is most deeply resonant and freely available to them, their social and cultural. Thus Lowenhaupt Tsing (1993: 289) describes the way in which the Meratus of Indonesia approach the violent incursion of state policy into their society through embellishing their cultural traditions and re-interpreting modernity with recourse to cultural resources of narrative, imagination and understanding. This provides a way of achieving agency and understanding events in ways that are comprehensible and consistent and provide a template for further action. She, like others (Hirsch 1994: 692), suggests that this is a way for people to be empowered in difficult
42 circumstances and that through this, old ways of doing things are perpetuated with new relevancy in the provision of therapeutic direction.
James (1988) has offered a slightly differently nuanced version of cultural continuity amongst the Uduk of Sudan. She shows how the Uduk have reconstituted their moral world in the face of the incursion of new religious powers. The way that they have done this validates an enduring sense of what it is to be an Uduk person. What endures is what James calls the “cultural archive”, a concept she draws from Foucault. Amongst the Uduk, a cultural archive is a corpus of specifically Uduk moral knowledge about bodily experience and composition, and the place of the Uduk in the world. This corpus of moral knowledge is not necessarily articulated by the Uduk, yet it is what persists as they reconstitute the moral world in the face of loss and change. Its persistence can be seen in Uduk recommitment to religious practices of the Order of Ebony Diviners. Rather than lose these practices in the face of Islam and Christianity, they have been resurgent. The Uduk cultural archive is thus perpetuated and endows the Uduk response to events with cultural coherence.
Allen (1989) has found the model of a cultural archive relevant in his work with the Madi of north Uganda. In the aftermath of political conflict Allen found the Madi reconstituting relations with their neighbours, the Acholi, with whom they had been opposed during the conflict. In reconstituting their relations Madi relied upon a notion of relatedness with Acholi, a notion drawn from the cultural archive of Madi understandings of the past. Once again a cultural predilection was made relevant to cotemporary concerns after loss and suffering. Moral knowledge from a Madi cultural archive was re-employed as a way of re-building interpersonal relations with the Acholi. As a result of this the Madi process of post war recovery involved a reconstruction of and consistency with previous moralities, understandings and practices.
This thesis is written with an eye to the evidence of consistency in an Iteso corpus of moral praxis in the processes of post war recovery in Nyadar. There is attention given to key Iteso values and practices of the morality of life, of the composition
43 of persons and their place in the world. I draw attention to key Iteso praxis specifically that of the home, of youth, of emotional well-being, of wealth and of cosmology. I look at their implication and patterning in the post war life of the population of Nyadar.
There are, however, differences between this study and the analogy of the cultural archive used by James and Allen. First, I am also concerned with the socio cultural innovation and change evidenced in the processes of post war recovery in Nyadar. Anthropological literature points to the fact that this must be a central concern in the study of post-war societies who have experienced loss and suffering. For the impact of the violence, as a system of social meaning in itself, is often so deep that cultural resources may be lost and consequently post-war recovery involves innovation and social change. Structures of meaning - social, conceptual, institutional and emotional - might be the very items lost or destroyed during turbulent historical events (Simpson 1997: 475). This is often the case in situations of the political violence of civil conflict where violence is applied precisely to change irrevocably ideologies, moralities and interpersonal relations. In other words people may not have the opportunity to express a “conservative impulse” or “cultural archive” because the means for these are the very things that they lose.
Sorabji’s (1995) work shows how violence, especially that of ‘ethnic cleansing’, was used in the former Yugoslavia to change concepts of ethnicity from one of ‘brotherhood’ amongst difference to one of ‘purity’. Feldman (1991: 1, 79) has described the violence in Northern Ireland as a political culture with both performed and material practice. This involves political subjects in the ongoing symbolic and practical construction of claims and hierarchies. Violence engenders its own morality, which is both convincing and motivating to the people concerned. After such violence previous moralities and structures may be re negotiated to be relevant to the contemporary situation but it is unlikely that a corpus of moral praxis will translate unchanged and intact. For it is these very moralities and notions of the person that have been addressed through the violence. The socio-cultural corpus might have been the target of symbolic
44 violence and fragmentation. In other words the very resources available for use in post-conflict reconstruction may have been affected by the violence. Thus kinship may be weakened by the loss of members and personal identities may be profoundly altered through involvement in historical events. Social change can also be so irrevocable, rapid and devastating that people’s response is one of despair rather than coherency. Sometimes events outstrip any ability or time to come to terms or make sense of violence. Sometimes people simply have very little power in a situation. That which was once resonant and authentic can change after an event to being remote, irrelevant or simply unavailable.
In the light of such impact, post-war recovery can be seen as much as a period of innovation and socio-cultural change as conservatism. In Zur’s (1993) work with Quiche war widows she shows that Quiche people had a lack of appropriate cultural categories relevant to interpret their recent experience of violence. In rebuilding their lives after the conflict Quiche people faced the difficulty of “getting a hold” on events and a lack of agency. Quiche people turned to various discourses such as politics and religion through which to secure an interpretation of the violence and to embark upon recovery. The response of the community as a whole was a fragmented one: the search for satisfactory narratives contributed to a re-alignment of community identities, values and affiliations. In his study of Cypriot refugees Loizos (1981: 131) shows how their loss fell outside the provisions of conventional religious and customary discourses of suffering. People turned to various institutions of church, media and government for philosophies to sustain them and around which they could re-orient their lives. In such cases, post-war recovery is more a process of creation and change than of reconstruction.
The thesis gives attention both to socio-cultural consistency but equally to change and transformation within the processes of post-war recovery in Nyadar. For this reason the models of interaction between historical event and moral praxis that stress cultural consistency and conservatism cannot fully encompass the complexity of post-war recovery in Nyadar. The perspective that I take on the post-war history of Nyadar is one neatly summed up by Sahlins “History is
45 culturally ordered, differently so in different societies, according to meaningful schemes of things. The converse is also true: cultural schemes are historically ordered, since to a greater or lesser extent the meanings are revalued as they are practically enacted” (1985: vii). Rather than a perspective that sees a body of cultural praxis, moral knowledge or a cultural archive (whatever the term chosen) rising up to meet, resist and shape historical events, the case described in this thesis takes a perspective that gives equal weight to events shaping culture in turn. Sahlin’s notion of the “structure of the conjuncture” (1985: xvi) is useful for framing the ethnography of post war recovery in Nyadar. It is a perspective that encourages study of “the practical realization of the cultural categories in specific historical context as expressed in the interested actions of the historical agents” and opens the door to recognising “the past in the present.. .the static in the dynamic, change in stability.” It advocates a perspective in which people are seen as agents of history in the making whose experience is grounded in what it means to be a person and to be a part of a certain society whilst acknowledging that these are open to re-creation.
Sahlin’s “structure of the conjuncture” is also useful, for it circumvents a second way in which the cultural archive model is inadequate for the Iteso case. The danger in the ‘redemptive mode’ of anthropology is to give the impression that the cultural praxis shaping events is representative of some kind of ahistorical cultural essentialism. It will soon become clear that many of the priorities of moral praxis in Nyadar, those that constitute the direction of post war recovery, have been historically framed. The ideals of the home, for example, are related to a history of migration and of familial nuclearisation under colonialism. The ideals of wealth have been constructed in the pre war history of agricultural production and Teso prosperity, cosmological praxis is shaped by the introduction of Christianity. It is soon clear that there is little in the cultural corpus in Nyadar that is not grounded in historical change.
Using a model such as the structure of the conjuncture is useful for answering the question of what has happened to an Iteso ‘way of life’ in Nyadar after the war, for it allows one to appreciate what is changed as well as to what is conserved.
46 Throughout the thesis I assess the degrees of change in cultural praxis in the post war life of Nyadar. In the Conclusion I assess what model of change best accommodates the ethnographic evidence. To reach this conclusion I follow a specific line of approach. In the Chapter Two I look at the history of the war and post-war periods in Teso. I look at how those periods are meaningfully understood by people in Nyadar. Here again the concept of ‘life’ is important, for people in Nyadar often described the post-war period as being like a ‘return to life’ - abongun aijar. In other words, since the end of the conflict people see that there has been a return to conditions which fit with those that allow them to be effective persons. It is the return to a good life, to a life worth living. In the subsequent chapters I take five different aspects of what people in Nyadar saw as crucial to the resumption of their ‘way of life’. These aspects are; processes of the household; the lives of young people; the acquisition of wealth; emotional health; and spiritual relations. I look at how people have re-acquired a sense of personal efficacy, of ‘life’ in these aspects and the resources that allow them to do so. And I look at what has been conserved and what has been changed of a ‘way of life’ when people regain this agency and use these resources. It is this approach that allows me to assess the overall impact of the war on cultural praxis in Nyadar.
Whose post-war recovery?
This thesis is the study of post-war recovery as articulated, expressed and lived by the people of Nyadar themselves. The thesis documents a history that I was witness to as I lived in the parish for eighteen months. Throughout that time I lived with the family of William and Lucy Adongu. When I first moved into their home Lucy and William were still based in Oditel - the small trading centre in Nyadar parish that had been turned into a settlement camp during the UPA rebellion in Teso. The family had been there for four years ever since fleeing from their village home in Nyadar when attacked by UPA rebels. They continued to live in the camp despite the end of the conflict and return to peace. During 1997, however, the family began to rebuild their home in Nyadar and on Christmas Day 1997 we made a joyous home-coming. I spent the last three months of my fieldwork with them in this new home. I describe this family’s recovery in more
47 detail in Chapter Two. For me living with William and Lucy was a profound example of the resilience of people in the light of intense suffering, a very personal and moving illustration of the processes of post-war recovery in Nyadar.
It was through participant observation of such happenings that I learnt of the embedded praxis of daily life in Nyadar. I also depended, however, upon the explicit articulation by Iteso about their lives and values. It is for this reason that the cultural corpus I seek out in the thesis is less sedimented than the cultural archive proposed by James for the Uduk. Instead it is what was the currency of daily conversations. The discussions of war and peace that I rely upon to understand the post-war recovery in Nyadar arose in many contexts, sometimes in group discussions led by myself, other times in casual conversations, in story telling, in plays, sermons, life histories. They were the narratives through which people in Nyadar passed onto me their understandings of what war and peace were about.
There were two key concepts that arose time and again when people talked about the war and post-war period in these conversations. These were the concepts of ‘loss’ - ichan and ‘life’ - aijar. I discuss these concepts in further detail in Chapter Two; they are the understandings that frame much of what is discussed in the thesis. For people in Nyadar ‘loss’ was the sum of all that they had experienced during the war. It was a material and emotional statement: the loss of wealth, of friends, family, freedom, of a way of life and all the emotional suffering that that entailed. ‘Life’ is what the people of Nyadar say they have regained since the end of the conflict. Once again this referred to the personal ability to be the person they would like to be and to a ‘way of life’: the cultural praxis that defines what it is to be an Itesot. So when people in Nyadar described the post-war period as a ‘return to life’ they implied the return to conditions that allow them to be the people they would like to be as that desire is culturally framed. They refer then to the return to a good life, to a life worth living, to a life in line with a cultural way of life prior to the war.
By using these concepts and metaphors the character of post war recovery in
48 Nyadar that I describe in the thesis is one articulated by the people there themselves. There is, however, a difficulty in claiming to be guided in the voices of people themselves. For whatever the coherence of a cultural corpus that binds people together, there are different positions and different voices from within that corpus. The way that the events of the war, the loss and suffering have interacted with socio-cultural life in Teso are different for different people. Thus post-war recovery is also a different experience for different people. What post-war recovery means for an old man who lost his large herd of cows and can now never hope to regain them in his lifetime is very different from what post war recovery means for a young women sexually abused during the conflict and now fearing that she is HIV+, and again different for a young rebel fighter who, through his active role in the conflict, gained sufficient funds to set up his own business in the post-war period. These are all scenarios I encountered amongst those in Nyadar and they indicate that there can be no one projection to describe post war recovery.
Indeed it has been the diversity of social positions within a society and the tensions between them that has been one of the strongest arguments against the use of an encompassing notion like culture (Kuper 1999: 232). In Iteso society as well as different social positions between men and women, young and old there are the differences brought by a stratified society. As Vincent (1968) has so clearly documented, the history of colonisation and of political change throughout Uganda resulted in highly stratified communities in Teso. Within one parish Vincent points out differences between rich and poor, educated and uneducated, politically involved and politically uninvolved, land owners and land users, old residents and newcomers, business classes and agricultural classes, the elite and non elite. It is likely that post-war recovery has been a different kind of process for all these types of people. What is interesting, however, about Vincent’s analysis is her recognition that that to take up or maintain any one of these positions people rely upon the socio-cultural resources of the wider society around them. Diversification thus exists at the same time as cultural coherence; although people might have different positions within a corpus of cultural praxis, they must rely upon and thus reproduce this wider unity to maintain their positions. In the
49 same way I argue for a coherence of cultural praxis in Nyadar. Any one position in Iteso social life - being a woman, a man, an elder, a youth, a member of the elite - implicates other positions and the socio-cultural resources that both transcend and underpin sociological difference within the same neighbourhood. So, for example, the fact that one man in Nyadar might be described as ‘really having life’ by the fact of having a salaried post does not lift him from the corpus of cultural praxis of his non-salaried neighbours. He both relies upon joint interests with them, such as household co-operation in agriculture, and in turn influences them. He is thus bound to them through a shared ‘way of life’.
Nevertheless the variety of social positions within Nyadar is one that needs to be recognised. In the thesis I have chosen to concentrate on the voices of one particular segment of the population in Nyadar, the young - a section of the society known in Teso as itunanak. The majority of the comments and case studies I draw upon are those from itunank , people aged between 12 and 26 at the time of my fieldwork in Nyadar. This is not to say that I have ignored other older members of the parish. For the lives of young people are structured and valued through discourses held by other members of their society and a holistic perspective on the lives of young people necessitates the elaboration of these (James 1993: 136; James & Prout 1990: 25). Nor do the young speak with a coherent voice; there are differences of gender, of education, of wealth, of age.
I have given priority, however, to focusing on the young as a distinct group in Nyadar for two reasons. First despite recognising the profound impact of civil conflict on the lives of children and young people, few studies have, as yet, considered processes of post-war recovery from the point of view of the lives of the young (Cohn 1996: 207). Second, whilst I was in Nyadar it seemed to me that it was the young people, more than any other group, who were at the heart of the processes of post war recovery. Indeed, as I discuss in Chapter Four, the wider society looked to the energy and resilience of itunanak to pull the society together again after the years of ichan - loss. It follows the thinking of people in Nyadar as to what post-war recovery was all about, to focus on itunanak.
50 In addition, focusing on young people in Nyadar strengthens the consideration of the interaction between historical event and cultural praxis in Nyadar. Itunanak are those whose childhoods had been framed by war and suffering: the violent past coincides with their childhoods and the present of recovery coincides with their emerging adulthood. For itunanak the link between past and present, between war and peace, is their own personal process of growing up. As they grow up they both reproduce and transform the wider patterns of socio-cultural life.
Stephens (1995: 23) suggests that children and young people have to be recognised as creative participants in a society and as central actors in both reshaping and maintaining culture. This recognition has rarely made it into the models of the interaction between historical event and cultural praxis outlined above. Marris (1974: 9) did acknowledge the role of young people for the ‘conservative impulse’ model of people involved in hardship and disaster. He states that the ‘conservative impulse’ comes from the fact that those in the experience will have had a pre-disaster period of cultural learning as children, a resource to which they then return. Young people in Nyadar, however, clearly have not had this grounding; they have grown up in circumstances of conflict. Anyone aged 26 or under in the parish was either bom in, or lived through, the years of violence and loss since 1979. Peace and post-war recovery is, for young people in Nyadar, something new and unusual. It involves a way of life that is radically different from what they have known before and they grow up in situations very different from generations before them. Many of the resources that young people before them relied upon have been lost. For example, young men wishing to marry would, previous to the conflict, have used the cattle herds of their father for bridewealth. With the loss of herds in the war, young men gather bridewealth through their own economic efforts. Again, in contrast to their fathers, other young men have had experiences as child combatants.
For young people in Nyadar it seems apposite to follow Toren's perspective and to see young people as historically located persons who have their understandings shaped by historical processes and also constitute conceptual understandings for
61 themselves (1993: 470). If we do not assume that “children simply become what their elders already are” (Toren 1993: 461), it is possible to look at the lives of young people in Nyadar, affected by the war, as both influencing their own ideas of self and acting as a locus of social change for the whole community. This fits with how people in Nyadar consider the role of young people. Youth is culturally valued as a time of resilience, activity and initiative; the momentum and future of the recovery process is seen to be in the lives of the young. This makes their lives, perception and strategies a fascinating window on the processes of post-conflict recovery, as culturally conservative and innovative.
Nyadar Parish
The Iteso, whose language is Ateso, form the second largest ethnic and linguistic group in Uganda.8 The Iteso have been classified to be part of the ‘Nilo-Hamitic’ or ‘para-Nilotic’ cluster of peoples of East Africa sharing cultural and linguistic relationship with the Karamojong, Kumam, Abwor, Jie and Dodoth peoples of Uganda, the Turkana, Masai, Suk and Nandi of Kenya, the Toposa, Lotuko, Lango and Jiye of Sudan, and the Dime and Bako of Ethiopia (Roscoe 1922: 234; Roscoe 1966: 259; Wright 1942: 57; Tarantino 1949). Today the Iteso see themselves as most closely related to their northern neighbours within Uganda, the Karamojong. All of these groups however share a tradition of origin from the lands o f present day Ethiopia (Lawrence 1955: 7).
Teso is divided into four districts: Soroti, Kumi, Pallisa and Katakwi. The administrative and trading centre of the area is the town of Soroti. Each of the four district is divided into four counties and each county divided into three sub counties. Each sub-county is divided into parishes and each parish into ten or more villages. These territorial divisions refer to present day political units.9
Nyadar, the site of my fieldwork, is a parish (L.C.2) in the sub-county of Kapelebyong (L.C.3) in the county of Kapelebyong (L.C.4) in the Katakwi district (L.C.5) of Teso.10 Kapelebyong is the most northern of all counties in Teso. It
52 directly borders Karamoja and is the driest and most scarcely populated region.11 There is one connecting road between Kapelebyong and Soroti town, a distance of 90 kilometres.
Nyadar Parish is divided into ten villages. The largest of these villages has 84 households. The smallest has 27. In addition there is the one ‘trading centre’, the previous settlement camp, called Oditel. At the time of fieldwork there were 132 households in Oditel. The total number of households in Nyadar is 661, and the total population is 2585.12
Methodology
The principle fieldwork method employed whilst resident in Nyadar was that of participant observation. I sought to participate in and observe people’s daily life and the comments they made upon it. The phrase “privileged outsider” (e.g. Cheater 1986: 38) most aptly describes my relative position in Nyadar and the stance within both participation and observation. ‘Privileged’ refers to the analytic and reflexive perspective that was imbued into all moments of participation and observation but also to the personal sense of awe that marks the process of being accepted into the conversations, daily life and problems of the peoples of a very different culture. ‘Outsider’ refers to both the critical and questioning view of the anthropologist who seeks exegesis as a means to understanding and also to the personal sense of occasional frustration and alienation that necessarily marks such depth of cross cultural interchange (c.f. Fine & Sandstom 1988: 13).
In addition to participant observation I used more structured methodology. One of the most successful was group discussions (see Plate 3). Throughout my time in Nyadar I invited eight to fifteen people to an afternoon discussion group followed by a meal. These were held in various locations throughout Nyadar hosted by different members of the parish and brought together a group of people of similar interest. During the year discussion groups were held that consisted of, for example, a group of fifteen elderly men, a group of elderly women, members of a church youth group, a group of young single mothers, the members of one
53 particular lineage or village. I held over thirty of these discussion groups in all. The discussion was channelled by myself and chaired by a member of the group. All the discussion was recorded verbatim and later transcribed and translated from Ateso into English.
I also conducted group work by linking up with pre-existing youth groups in Nyadar, in particular those from the Anglican and Pentecostal churches. Strong relationships developed in the course of the fifteen months. I attended over twenty plays performed by the members and debates that were initiated and hosted by the groups. This was a case where the benefits of working within pre-existing groups of friends and organisation was strongly shown, for it afforded a way into the experience of the lives of young people, their articulation with adult worlds, their working perceptions and their norms and values in action (c.f. Baker 1996: 26, Swart 1088: 5).
I conducted semi-structured interviews on a one-to-one basis especially to gather life histories. This method was used amongst a range of people: elderly men to gather the history of the area; those who had been rebel or government activists during the conflict; local healers. Sometimes young people borrowed a tape machine and went away to record their life history in private. In all I collected over 100 life histories.
I worked in the two primary schools in Nyadar and one secondary school in the neighbouring parish. There I found most successful method of research was a ‘theme session’. I gave young people and children a theme about which I asked them to tell a story or narrate a relevant incident from their lives, these were again recorded and later transcribed and translated. Examples of such themes were ‘The difference between a good home and a bad home’, ‘A story about a good brother’, ‘Things that make me laugh’, ‘The worst day of my life’. The sessions were immensely popular and generated copious material. By the end of my fieldwork young people and children were initiating their own theme session and were also borrowing previous tapes in order to listen to them again. In all I collected material from over forty theme sessions. Children and young people were also
54 asked to draw pictures on various topics especially related to the war. This has been shown to be a successful method of drawing out conceptions about the impact of violence and recovery (Brett, A 1996; Zur 1990; Chambers 1986; Dodge & Raundalen 1987).13
I conducted a formal questionnaire amongst 82 students of the first year in the secondary school near to Nyadar. These students ranged from 12 to 18 years old. The questionnaire was in written form in English, as were life histories written by the same students.14 I conducted a sociological survey in two locations. Firstly in Oditel, the settlement camp, where I recorded the historical and sociological details of each of the 132 households. Secondly in a sample village within the parish of Nyadar which consisted of 54 households.15
As much as the study of war and violence has the potential to reconfigure anthropological theory on social change, conflict and recovery, so too does fieldwork in a post-war situation present challenges to anthropological methodology. The first challenge is that those research tools that have been specifically developed for post-war situations have arisen out of particular disciplines. Thus, for example, there are well defined psychoanalytic diagnostic manuals to assess the incidence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in a post-conflict situation. However the problem for an anthropological approach is that these rigid classificatory approaches might potentially obscure more than they reveal (Baker 1991). The emic perspective, people’s experience of a situation is reduced by the application of formal research agendas. Such research tools, potentially illuminating on a particular subject, also encode the assumptions of a discipline and the context in which the discipline has been developed (Bracken 1993: 268, as discussed above). Yet whilst offering a critique of the use of such rigid methodology anthropologists have been slower to assess the implications for their own research methods, or lack of research methods, posed by post-conflict situations.
55 The second challenge for ethnography in a post-war situation lies in the politics of the situation. All ethnography is politically located (Clifford 1986: 6). There will always be a tendency for ethnography to slide into an advocacy of a people and place if only through the room that is left for the voices of political subjects with real political concerns (Whisson 1985: 143). In a post conflict society the stakes of this context are perhaps more fraught. Whilst most people in Nyadar did not conceive of the praxis of post-war recovery in political terms it was understandable that the platforms that I offered people in Nyadar to voice their opinions and experiences, for example group discussions, were sometimes dominated by the minority who directed discussion onto political issues. In particular one man who often invited me to his home, in a parish near to Nyadar, in the early months had been a political leader at the forefront of the UPA rebellion in Teso. He organised group discussions consisting of the members of an anti Museveni political movement. Such infusion of politics into ethnographic material is a necessary and revealing part of research. However, there are ethical issues involved in the portrayal of such information.
In my own work I had a strong impression that people in Nyadar were very aware of what would be incriminating and would have consequences for them. I have chosen to follow their guidelines. So on some occasion’s people would insist that questions I asked were not answered or that answers were to be kept secret. Once I met with a group of former Teso rebels who were now serving in the government army. They politely but firmly refused to have anything to do with my research. These are the limitations written into this research and must be made explicit. My work is located in a historical time and place where violent and destructive conflict has been performed in the name of political affiliations. These affiliations colour the research. People in Nyadar live and comment in a political present where the government in power is one to which many had been violently opposed in the past, where they have suffered hardship and loss at the hands of their neighbours, the Karamojong.16 These histories suffuse the ethnography and demand a methodology that recognises and works within the boundaries of them.17
56 The final challenge for research in a post-war situation is that research goals and methods might crosscut and contradict strategies that have been put into place for recovery. Research in a post-conflict society has a highly emotive location. I was given clear examples of this during my research. In one instance I was promised an interview with three people in Nyadar who had been badly beaten for their political affiliations during the conflict. My aim for the meeting was to establish a clear event history of what had happened to various people in Nyadar during the rebellion. For months we organised a time and a date, the food and location, only for the day to arrive and apologies sent. In the final week of research one of the participants called me to her home and we sat for hours whilst she painfully told out the events of the war years. “I have now told you” she said “so that it might be forgotten, so that we might never ever talk of those things again.”
Basing research on the aftermath of events that brought literally unspeakable horror to the lives of one’s informants is highly problematic. In Teso words have immense power (as will be discussed in Chapter Six); to re-describe events is to experience the power of the memory and to re-experience the awfulness of the moment. To ask one’s informants to re-describe events is to ask them to upset fragile mechanisms that have been used to avoid the recollection and consequences of memory. The idea that informants might benefit from talking through experiences with an independent listener as has been assumed to be the case in so much research (e.g. Brett, A nd) was, in Nyadar, completely at odds with local understandings of distress and wellbeing. In the same way it became apparent to me early on in the fieldwork that it was totally inappropriate to ask who had done what to whom in the community during the conflict in a context where present day and working relationships between members of a village or lineage depended on the avoidance of just such a topic.
In the end it is more revealing to work through the social and cultural impediments posed to research. These reveal local priorities and the relevance of social and cultural boundaries. A post war situation shows the importance of a flexible methodology where research can be shaped as much by the aims of the researcher as by the situation on the ground. In my fieldwork it was often the way
57 in which people gave information that proved to be as revealing as the information itself. The way in which information was given might not fit with research structures such as interview and questions, but fits with how people knew, understood and had decided to handle information such as they possessed, in the post-war context. So for example when I asked for narratives of conflict experiences I would be given general discourses of suffering (see Chapter Two). In contrast, particular narratives of individual experiences would be told as impromptu, often humorous, stories or in the course of daily conversation where narration and comparison proved relevant or in a situation where people knew that listeners already knew the contents of the narration. In the same way when I asked directly for the landscape of suffering - what had happened where to whom - replies were evasive. Yet the inscription of suffering into the landscape became clear in informal conversations or when incidents in the present sparked off memories of the past; passing a site where someone had been shot would bring a story of the event. Whilst formal research techniques did prove fruitful in the research, a depth of information could only be elicited by using such techniques in tandem with participant observation. Participant observation of daily life and conversation provided the net into which and through which more formal research on the post conflict situation was contextualised and made meaningful.
58 1 The definition of what constitutes a ‘war’ is a contested one (Allen 2000: 164). I define the violence between NRA and UPA in Teso as ‘war’ both because it fits the definition given by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute in which war is “prolonged combat between the military forces of two or more governments, or of one government and at least one organized armed group, involving the use of weapons and incurring the battle-related deaths of at least 1000 people during the entire conflict and in which the incompatibility concerns government and/or territory” and because ‘war’ is how people in Teso understood the period of fighting. For people in Nyadar, however, these years were about much more than ‘war’. As I discuss in Chapter Two these were the years when “eroko ekwap” “the earth was bad”, a description that is spiritual, material and emotional in reference. 2 The National Resistance Army (NRA) was the military wing of the National Resistance Movement (NRM). In 1995 the NRA was given the new name the Uganda Peoples Defence Force (UPDF). In the thesis I use both of these terms as they are historically applicable to refer to the government army. Eighty-five per cent of all war casualties in the 1980’s were civilians (Zwi & Ugale 1989: 634). Kaldor (1997: 8) gives the changing ratio of military: civilian casualties as: 1950s 1: 0.8,1960s 1: 1.3,1970s 1: 3.1, 1980s 1: 3.1,1990-1995 1: 8.1. 4The psychological reaction to the stress of war has been noted since the First World War (Carey- Tracey 1949: psychological reactions of civilian children; Horizon documentary Shell Shock 1998: psychological reactions of combatants). These theories have gained coherency through the use of PTSD as a diagnostic tool. The characteristic symptoms of PTSD were included in the 1980 edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Psychiatric Diseases (DSM III), where the condition was described as “the development of characteristic symptoms following a psychologically distressing event. The stressor producing this syndrome would be markedly distressing to anyone and is usually experienced with intense fear, terror and helplessness. The characteristic symptoms include re-experiencing the traumatic event, avoidance of the stimuli associated with the event or numbing of general responsiveness and increased arousal symptoms of anxiety and depression are common.” (1980: 247). 5There is a wealth of such research on the psychological impact of conflict upon children. For example: Bryce, Walker, Kanji, Ghoarayeb (1989), Punamaki & Suleiman (1990), McCallin & Fozzard (1991), Drregov & Raundalen (1987), Melville & Lykes (1992). 'TDaloni Carlisle ‘A War of Words’ The Guardian December 1st 1996. 7 Whilst I acknowledge the long academic debate over the use of the word 'agency1 (as summarised by Giddens 1995), I use the word here to mean a sense of personal efficacy. 8 The population of Uganda is 16.5 million. The population falls into four broad linguistic groups each of which contain further ethnic divisions: Bantu including the Buganda, Basoga, Banyankore, Bakiga, Banyoro and Bagisu; Sudanic including Lugbara, Madi and Kakwa; Luo including the Acholi, Langi, Alur and Jonam; Paranilotic including the Iteso, Karamojong, Kumam Jie. It is estimated that around 1 million people of the Ugandan population speak Ateso as their language of birth. Of these the majority live in the Teso districts of Soroti, Katakwi, Pallisa and Kumi (in 1991 the combined population of Soroti and Katakwi districts was 430 000 persons). However there is also a large population of Iteso living in Busoga as well as in towns throughout Uganda. A group of 60 000 Teso live in the Nyanza Province of Kenya. The largest ethnic group in Uganda are the Buganda. See map, Plate 1, page 19. 9Under Youweri Museveni’s National Resistance Movement (NRM) a system of bifurcating political organisation has been put into place (Brett 1995: 210). A ‘village’ in rural area or a ‘ward’ in urban areas is a group of 50 to 60 households and is referred to as Local Council One (L.C.l) (When first inaugurated the councils were referred to as Resistance Councils (R.C.s) rather than the present day Local Councils (L.C.s)). Each L.C.l has an elected council of eight members from the village with a chairperson. An L.C.2. is a parish, composed of 10-12 L.C.l, about 600 households. Only the members of an L.C.l council can be elected onto the L.C.2 council, which has eight members and a chairperson. Only members of the L.C. 1 councils within the parish vote for these L.C.2 positions. This system continues to the sub county (L.C.3) county (L.C.4) and district (L.C.5) level although all persons over 18 vote for an L.C.5 not just members of councils. In addition there are parliamentary wards, which equal a district. Each district elects an M.P. and a woman’s M.P. to the national parliament in Kampala. This is the ‘Movement’ Political System in
59 place throughout Uganda. Whilst it is not a multi party democracy it has been hailed as both as a ‘New African Democracy’ and a ‘People’s Democracy’ (Mudoola 1991; Museveni 1997: 189). The constitution was fmalised in 1995. Elections of Local Councils take place every four years, most recently in 1997/8. Parliamentary and presidential elections take place every five years most recently in 1996 and 1998 respectively. 10In 1992 the population of Kapelebyong county was 41 078, with 58.4% below 30 years of age (The 1992 Population and Housing Census, Soroti District, Statistic Department Ministry of Finance and Economic Planning, Entebbe, Uganda.) 11 The landscape of Teso consists of slightly undulating land, broken occasionally by volcanic intrusions of granite rock rising steeply out of the ground. There are rock paintings on these outcrops that are thought to date from the Stone Age. There is no tradition of origin of the paintings amongst the Teso:(Lawrence 1953). The soil is principally ferrallitic loam with occasional sand deposit and black cotton soils in the swamps. The land lies between 1050 and 1200m. The area is Savannah grassland with patches of forest. There is large amounts of swampland, which is seasonally flooded with water. The area receives an annual rainfall of 1000 to 1250mm in the northeast. As compared to 1250 to 1500mm in the southwest of Teso. The majority of rain falls between April to September with a reduction during June and July. The dry season starts in October to December and ends in March. Temperatures range between 16 degrees and 45 degrees though commonly stay between 22 degrees to 30 degrees centigrade: A Situation Analysis o f the Water and Sanitation Sector in Kumi and Soroti Districts. Nov. 1997: Irish Aid. 12Figures as of 1997 Parish Register. 13 Examples of the pictures drawn by children are given in Appendix 6. 14 Results from this survey conducted amongst secondary school students are given in Appendix 4. Written life histories from these students are given in Appendix 5. 15 Throughout the thesis I use the fictitious name Otela to refer to this sample village. Results from the survey conducted in Otela are given in Appendix 3. 16The Karamojong, no doubt, have an equally valid political opinion on the same history. 17In the same way the politics of my fieldwork was also influenced by the presence of the northern aid and development industry in large numbers in the post conflict situation of Teso. This has quite simply increased the belief that access to expatriate personnel is access to development resources. I made it clear in my research that I was in no way a public benefactor and had no public funds to disburse.
60 Plate 3: IMAGES FROM FIELDWORK
Small group discussion in Oditel camp
Visit to a Karamojong kraal with friends from Nyadar
6 / ‘ 62. Chapter Two A HISTORY OF LOSS AND LIFE
This chapter gives the history of the war and its resolution in Teso. I give it in two ways. First, there is a historical outline of the events that led up to the conflict. This include the events of the violence, the way in which it came to an end and the years in which, since the end of the war, the project of post-war recovery has been initiated in Teso. Second, I look at how people in Nyadar understand these events of conflict as a history defined through their own experience and through metaphors and idioms, in particular the concepts o f‘life’ - aijar and Toss’ - ichan. This brings me to the point of being able to better explain what people in Nyadar mean when they say that the post-war period has been like a ‘return to life’. It is from this point that I proceed to the following chapters considering processes of cultural change and conservatism in specific areas of what people in Nyadar consider ‘life’ to be about; processes of the household, the activities of young people, economic transactions, emotional health and spiritual relations.
THE HISTORY OF WAR AND PEACE IN TESO
The period of conflict in Teso spanned more than twelve years. It consisted of two main phases; between 1979 and 1986 the sustained attacks conducted by armed Karamojong cattle raiders, between 1987 and 1991 the war between UPA rebels and NRA government soldiers. The roots of both these stages of conflict lie in the wider instability of Ugandan national politics. It is estimated that political violence has caused the death of over one million Ugandans since the country achieved independence in 1962 (Kasozi 1994: 3). The reasons for such conflict have been well analysed and related both to the ethnic tensions fostered under
63 colonialism and institutionalised in the first government after independence and to the dominance of the army in maintaining political power.1
Uganda became independent in 1962 under the presidency of Milton Obote. Obote was of Luo ethnic origin and leader of the Uganda People’s Congress (UPC) party whose support came mainly from northern ethnic groups. The first government of independent Uganda consisted of a coalition between the UPC and Buganda dominated ‘Kabaka Alone’ - Kebaka Yekka (KY) party in a parliament with constitutional preference given to the Bugandan kingship - the Kabaka? In 1966, after four years of parliamentary dispute between KY and the UPC, Obote suspended the constitution in a bid for unchallenged national leadership. Troops loyal to Obote were sent to the palace of the Kabaka who fled into exile in England. It w$s an event that initiated the state use of violence against political dissenters and an increased reliance on the army for political power that has long continued throughout the later history of Uganda.
In 1971 General Idi Amin led a military coup toppling the Obote government. Amin’s regime was marked by two major strategies. First, he instigated the violent purge of all political opponents especially Luo supporters of Obote in the army. This escalated into a general reign of terror for the Uganda population, as Amin grew increasingly antagonistic both to suspected political opponents and to the Christian population. The ‘State Research Bureau’ became infamous as a place of disappearance and torture. By 1978 Amin was held by Amnesty International to be responsible for the death of 300 000 people. Second, Amin conducted the ‘economic’ war’ against Asians in Uganda. This culminated in 1972, in the forced expulsion of all of Asian origin from Uganda and the redistribution of wealth into the hands of Amin and his close political followers. The ensuing economic collapse was rapid and all encompassing.
Amin himself was deposed in 1979 by the Tanzanian sponsored Uganda National Liberation Army (UNLA). The UNLA invaded Uganda from Tanzania. It was an army that included former UPC soldiers who had joined Obote in exile between 1971 and 1979. Obote was formally re-instated to power in 1980. His second
64 term in office was marked by military conflict. Between 1980 and 1985 Obote’s army conducted campaigns against supporters of Amin. From 1982 Obote’s military supporters also waged war against an Acholi faction of the army led in opposition to Obote by Tito and Bazilio Okello. In the Luwero region Obote’s forces were resisted by Youweri Museveni’s National Resistance Army (NRA).4 The NRA were supported by the indigenous Buganda population in Luwero and the conflict there escalated into full scale civil war. Obote was eventually defeated in 1985 in a military coup by the Okello’s. By this time, however, the NRA was in control of most of the south of Uganda and reached the capital Kampala in January 1986. Museveni implemented the National Resistance Movement (NRM) government, which remains in power at the time of writing.
Museveni came to power with the backing of much of the south of Uganda. His government brought widespread peace in these areas and the opportunity for rapid reconstruction and economic development. In the north of Uganda, however, the NRM and NRA met with widespread opposition and armed rebellion. This dissent is still to be resolved. It is as part of this dissent that in 1987 political leaders in Teso declared the Teso area and people at war with Museveni and the NRA.
Conflict in Teso
The historical roots of the conflict in Teso lie in the nature of previous political alignment in the region and the impact on the Iteso of the events and politics of the preceding decades. At Independence the majority of Iteso had been supporters of Obote’s UPC. There were Iteso in Obote’s police force and army. A number of Iteso had prominent positions in the first Obote government and had joined UPC supporters in exile in Tanzania between 1971 and 1979.5 People in Teso today see the period of UPC exile corresponding with the loss of much Iteso influence in national politics and the marginalisation of Iteso as people of influence and power in Uganda. In addition, like the rest of the Uganda population, the Iteso were crippled by the impact of Amin’s rule; with the expulsion of the Asians in 1972, trade and business collapsed. Today people in Teso quite simply remember
65 Amin’s rule as “the time when there was no salt”, when the most basic item of trade and cooking was totally unavailable.
The most direct impact of the political turmoil of the Amin period affected Teso in 1979. Then Karamojong cattle raiders took the opportunity of a lack of law and order to loot an army arsenal in the north. Their acquisition of arms completely changed the character and balance of the cattle raiding that they had conducted against the Iteso for decades (Ocan 1992: 16). After the UNLA invasion of Uganda to restore Obote in 1979, Amin’s army fled north further arming the Karamojong who looted traded cattle for guns across the Sudanese border. Between 1979 and 1980 Karamojong swept through Teso raiding cattle. These armed and vicious raids in which many were killed continued throughout the 1980s and left very few cattle in the area.
Under Obote’s second regime the Iteso once again enjoyed a degree of political and formal military power. The Minister of State with responsibility for the army was the Itesot Peter Otai and Iteso constituted the majority of Obote’s Special Police Unit, a paramilitary body responsible for numerous human rights abuses between 1980 and 1985 (Amnesty International 1992: 15). Many Iteso had informally joined the UNLA as it pursued Amin’s army northwards thus acquiring arms and uniform from supplies abandoned by Amin’s troops (Ingram 1994: 159). It was this state of armament, politico-military influence and support for Obote that lay the foundations for the Iteso rebellion against Museveni and the NRA after Obote was deposed in 1985.
The UPA rebellion
Museveni himself has analysed the reasons why, after taking power in January 1986, the NRA faced military rebellion across the north and east of Uganda. He argues (1997: 176) that such opposition came about through Sudanese government backing of the remnant and subsequently resurgent, armies of Obote and Okello. Museveni states that, having fled into the Sudan, these armies re grouped and in August 1986 re-entered Uganda to fight against the NRA.
66 In Teso a more specific cause is cited for the rebellion. There people point to the fact that, during 1986, Museveni ordered the disarming of vigilante groups set up in Teso under the Obote II period to protect Iteso villages from cattle raiders (Brett 1996: 206; Pirouet 1991: 201). With such a situation Karamojong raiding intensified. Excessive cattle raiding occurred in Teso between 1986 and 1987 with Karamojong taking advantage of the insecurity of Teso and causing widespread suffering and deprivation (Mudoola 1991: 244). When young men in Teso speak of their decision to ‘go to the bush’ and join the UPA rebellion they often cite their frustration and anger at this loss of cattle.
At the same time former Iteso military and political leaders from the Obote II period had retreated to Teso. In late 1986 and throughout 1987 they visited trading centres mobilising supporters into an army called Fight Obote Back Again (FOBA). They argued that Museveni was in league with the Karamojong in a plan to raid all the cattle from Teso. FOBA units began campaigns of attack on NRA vehicles and barracks.
In 1987 FOBA regrouped under the name the Uganda People’s Army (UPA). The UPA was allied with other factions opposed to Museveni across the north of Uganda.6 All these factions held national political aims and have at varying times been sponsored by the Kenyan as well as the Sudanese government. The UPA had a political wing called the Uganda People’s Front (UPF) headed by former Minister Peter Otai, by then in exile in London. Otai (1988: 6; 1991) argued of the need to war against the “totalitarianism and authoritarianism established by Museveni’s ethnic dynasty”.
On the ground the UPA was led by a man now commonly known throughout Teso as ‘Hitler’ Eregu. Military folklore amongst former UPA members suggests that, between 1980 and 1986, Eregu was allied with Museveni in planning the NRA campaign of succession in Uganda. A story is told in which Museveni and Eregu argued during a meeting, Museveni drew out his gun turning on Eregu and Eregu was forced from the team vowing revenge.
67 As with FOBA, leaders of the UPA held political meetings in centres throughout Teso asking for volunteers to join the ranks of the UPA and for support amongst villagers. A central corps of three hundred men was formed around ‘Hitler’ Eregu, many of these were young boys from rural areas trained in bush camps. There were three other mobile and regional columns consisted of former soldiers and recruited members. Beyond these columns UPA organisations spread throughout Teso where each village assigned ten young men and boys to act as information carriers and potential activists if violence came into the area. The members of these groups were known as agwayo. They were equipped with knives and groups gave themselves names such as ‘Panga Group’, ‘First Pangas’ or ‘Speed Battalion’. Membership of the UPA increased throughout the conflict with men and women conscripting themselves into service.
Beyond the events and political alliances that lead up to conflicts, it is also important to assess the phenomenological, psychological and emotional aspects of the mobilisation of combatants. Many of those who fought with the UPA were young boys and men neither forced into conscription, as is often the case in other instances of young fighters (Cohn & Goodwin-Gill 1994: 24), nor aware of the years of political build up to the events they were actors in. Instead many young boys and men joined the ranks of their own volition and motivation.
In assessing conflict in Sri Lanka Daniels (1996: 67) has suggested that the causes of any conflict or war are found in a threat to a deeply important sense of identity. Karamojong raiding and the loss of cattle in Teso was such a threat to young men and to their wider communities, a loss with deep emotional resonance. As will be discussed in Chapter Three and Five, the loss of cattle was a loss of wealth with profound material, psychological and ideological consequences. It was the deprivation of the means of both production and reproduction in the society. A loss of cattle took away a young man’s ability to marry and establish his own home, as well as the basic tool of household agriculture. It also took the products of cattle, milk, skins, manure and offspring, out of people’s reach. It took away, therefore, both material security and the means of formal social perpetuation
68 through marriage based on bridewealth. More profoundly, as will be discussed below, it was a loss of a symbol of wealth representing a stage of historical development for the Iteso. This was compounded in that the loss was perpetrated by the Karamojong whom the Iteso have long considered as historically inferior and ‘backward’.
Both the pain and motivation wrought by the years of material loss in Karamojong raiding was evident in the testimonies young men in Teso gave of their decision to join the UPA and go to the bush. For example as I sat having a meal in Soroti with a friend, a young man in his early twenties, he told me about what drew him to join the UPA:
“Yes I remember the day I went to the bush. The Karamojong had stolen my bull [one given by his father when he was bom to mark the beginning of a herd for bridewealth]. Can you imagine that? They had stolen my bull. No! I don’t think that you, a white woman, can imagine that. What did I think of every day when I was herding that bull? Every day as a boy thinking “This is my bull and I will use it to get a wife and children.” Every day taking that bull to water. Can you imagine them taking that bull? They took my bull! So that day when the rebels came to our place looking for recmits. I said to myself “It is no use sitting here doing nothing. Let me go also. Let me fight.””
name withheld, Soroti, 28.11.97
Since, in Teso, emotions of loss fuelled participation in the conflict, the violence was self-perpetuating. For as combatants were mobilised, levels of violence and concomitant loss escalated creating ongoing deprivation for those involved and further motivation for action. The grass roots mobilisation into the UPA was perpetuated throughout the conflict by individual feelings of helplessness and by a sense of the personal effectiveness that being a combatant might bring. These ideas were promoted by shared experience. The following testimony came from a man in his fifties who lived near Nyadar. His was a home I often visited. He and many of his sons were educated and he, like his father before him, had been a parish chief and extremely wealthy in the past. He had lost over one hundred
69 heads of cattle through Karamojong raiding. He gave this description of why he has chosen to join the UPA rebellion:
“It was in 1988 and my son had been in the bush for about two years. I was just in the village, every day sitting thinking, thinking too much of all the cattle I had lost and how my children would never taste milk again. My son came to me and found me sitting like that. He said “Father, it is no use for you to sit here. There is nothing else to do. We must all fight, rise up and crush the head of that snake [reference to the NRA] that has come to disturb us.” Then I saw that there was nothing else to do and I too went to the bush and fought there for many years.”
name withheld, 9.8.97
The UPA military command provided structure, training and direction for conscripts. The political motivation of the UPA leaders can also be seen in phenomenological terms. Richards (1997: 34) has suggested that the RUF membership in Sierra Leone was inspired through a situation of social and material exclusion in a country where government was marked by patrimonialism. Politicians tended to channel resources and access to the ethnic peoples to whom they were predisposed, both by birth or alliance, and away from others. Ugandan politics has been marked by ethnic patrimonialism (Low 1988: 36). Under Obote II Iteso leaders were at the centre of government power and access to resources. With the NRM government and influence from the south of the country, leaders in Teso still affiliated with Obote’s UPC, were marginalised both politically and economically. As one former UPA leader, whom I met in Kampala where he now worked as a security guard, put it:
“I fought because my interests were at stake and I would fight again for the very same reason.”
It would seem that there is mileage in analysing the causes of the conflict in Teso, and conflicts in general, with recourse to contemporary theory on social movements. Increasingly this theory stresses the interdependence of the ideological, material and strategic bases of social movements (Canel 1997). Conflicts and wars differ, however, from social movements in that, whatever the
70 ideological base, they depend upon power structures and access to arms. In Teso years of pro Obote military involvement, the conditions of opposition to Museveni by nationally orientated groups, the presence of military leaders and the ready access to arms, created the structures through which social frustrations over the loss of cattle could be channelled and expressed. It is this coalescing of a popular cause and the presence of a military organisation that propelled the UPA. The political rebellion gained ground on the wave of individually and collectively felt despair over the loss of cattle. Yet there were also those who joined the UPA for reasons as simple as survival. Brett (1995: 147) suggests that there were those joined the UPA after death threats from the NRA and that the undisciplined actions of the government army in Teso perpetuated the antagonism towards them.
UPA activities took place throughout the late 1980’s. They operated in the ‘bush’ targeting NRA convoys and barracks, conducting numerous ambushes on NRA patrols and stations. The UPA also raided villages for food and cattle and
Q conducted armed robberies on public transport vehicles for funds. By 1988 NRM political structures were in place in Teso with voting held for Resistance Council (R.C.) representatives. The UPA particularly targeted those Iteso involved in such activities who were thought to be NRM sympathisers. Amnesty International (1992: 67) has collated details of these incidents in which numerous NRM officials were killed, their families intimidated and their homes and granaries burnt. The last of these attacks was reported on June 4th 1992.
Yet the worst of the UPA violence arose because, in time, the tight organisation of the rebel formation broke down. Village agwayo groups often assumed autonomy. In many cases this resulted in groups of young men carrying out revenge attacks for personal grudges amongst their own peoples and looting wealth from their own areas.
The response of the NRA to UPA rebel activity included attacks on rebel camps and on those villagers suspected of harbouring and supplying rebels. NRA soldiers were involved in the extra-judiciary executions of suspected rebels or
71 rebel sympathisers. The NRA used terror as a deliberate counter insurgency tactic. They were not well disciplined, however, and carried out attacks on homes and villages at will and further looted the area. The NRA was further responsible for cattle and food raiding, rape and unlawful detentions.9
In time the conflict was increasingly less about sides and more about the arbitrary power wielded by men with guns. Both UPA and NRM sympathisers were kidnapped and murdered, often publicly, in brutal and bloody ways. The terror and insecurity in the area led many to flee their homes and become refugees in local towns and other areas of Uganda. The population of Soroti town swelled by many hundreds of thousands. The insecurity in Teso meant that the area was increasingly economically marginalised from the south of Uganda where peace had brought economic development. In Teso basic imported foodstuffs were generally unavailable during the years of war.
Museveni sought the end of the conflict in Teso with two strategies. First, he introduced a system of political amnesty for rebel members to come out of the bush and surrender. They were retrained and often conscripted into the NRA. Second, in an attempt to severe links between the UPA and their civilian supporters, he introduced a policy of ‘protected villages’ and a ‘free fire zone’. In 1989 120 000 people from rural areas were forcibly moved from their village homes into concentrated settlement camps, those found outside the camps were assumed to be hostile to the government and were shot dead on sight.10 It was at this time that the majority of those in Nyadar were moved into Oditel camp. Conditions in the camps led Amnesty International to accuse the government of Museveni of serious human rights abuses (1992). Each camp was guarded by a barrack of soldiers. People were allowed to leave or enter the camps without permission. They could not grow food on their land and there was a lack of sanitation. It is estimated that 15 people died in each of these camps per day.11 There were outbreaks of cholera and dysentery. It was such a situation that took the notice of the international aid community and Medicine Sans Frontier and the Red Cross were involved in setting up feeding centres in the camps.
72 The Transition to Peace
UPA and NRA skirmishes continued throughout the early nineties though with decreasing intensity. By 1991 an increasing number of rebel groups were taking advantage of the amnesty offered by Museveni and were coming out of the bush. There was, however, no abrupt or clear end to the violence. Although the last official UPA group lay down their arms in 1995, armed looting and killing continues today, as do threats from Karamojong. There were sporadic outbreaks of instability throughout my fieldwork conduced in Nyadar between 1996 and 1998. In October 1996 a small ‘rebel’ army attacked the police station in Soroti and killed two officers. In October 1997 there were sightings of ‘rebel’ gangs throughout the north of the region. From the west rebels of Joseph Kony’s Lord Resistance Army (LRA) have made looting incursions into Teso.
Nevertheless, in terms of both an intensity of fighting and the start of economic recovery, 1991 is popularly held as the turning point in the war and the beginning of peace. By then a number of high-ranking members of the UPA had surrendered or had been captured. Eregu himself was reportedly killed. The government army presence in Teso was sizeably reduced with troops being diverted to the northern
17 campaign and only one large barracks remained in Soroti town. As people began to leave the camps the process of re-building homes began. In 1991 emergency aid agencies such as the Red Cross and MSF providing emergency relief left and development agencies stepped in. Amongst the population themselves there was gradual disillusionment with fighting and a recognition that whilst Teso was still at war, the south of the country was being developed under Museveni’s leadership.
Political opposition to Museveni continues in Teso; in the 1996 presidential elections the UPC anti-Museveni candidate received a majority of votes in the Soroti Municipal Ward. This opposition has, however, had a change of focus, noticeable during my fieldwork. In 1996 former UPA rebel leaders still met to discuss an agenda of political opposition. By 1998 the same leaders were standing for election to L.C. posts, preferring ‘opposition from within’. They echoed the
.73 sentiments of many people in Teso that they were ‘tired’ with war, eager to escape its constraints and to put it behind them.
From 1990/1 people throughout Teso people were free to leave the camps and return to their village lands. The impact of conflict on the area had been resounding; the destruction of infrastructure, schools, churches clinics and roads, the collapse of markets and businesses, the loss of community patterns of security and trust. Hundreds had been killed and thousands of cattle lost. Consequently patterns of bridewealth and agriculture were deeply affected and the agricultural base was rendered perilously vulnerable. This was compounded by the outbreak of a cassava mosaic disease in 1992, destroying crops of the staple famine food. Those who returned to their lands faced immense challenges of re-building and recovery. Many families were slow to return to their lands and homes and some still remain in the camps (Maitland 1996:1).
Post Conflict Reconstruction in Teso
Since the early 1990’s there have been a plethora of formal development and reconstruction initiatives in Teso. The government has extended and formalised its administrative infrastructure throughout Teso. This is the structure often subsidised by multinational donor agencies (e.g. UNICEF and UNDP) and through which they reach out to communities. In addition a special governmental body, the Presidential Commission For Teso (PCT) was inaugurated in 1990. This was in response to a lobbying committee called Teso Relief, later Teso Development Trust (TDT). A group of former Teso political leaders and former missionaries to the area were the first to raise the profile of the camp conditions to the international world, through the media and through Amnesty International (Maitland 1996). In response Museveni founded the Presidential Commission For Teso. The secretary of the PCT, Grace Akello, was a founding member of Teso Development Trust and is now an MP for a Soroti ward. The PCT draws on funds from the Northern Uganda Reconstruction Programme (NURP). The PCT channels NURP money into projects such as the rehabilitation of schools, clinics, water systems and roads. The PCT has also been the initiative behind two visits
74 by Museveni to Teso and a conference in January 1996 ‘Teso Steps Forward With Peace: the challenges of socio-economic recovery in a post-conflict area’ where academics, NGO’s and government personal gathered for a four day conference on initiatives for reconstruction in Teso. NURP funding was also used by the PCT to set up a system of loans to rural farmers called Ntendikwa or ‘reconciliation’ through which small groups could borrow the capital to set up projects which they then had to repay after a year once the business was established.
The influence of the PCT has, however, decreased in recent years as its functions are taken over by the normative government infrastructure. As Museveni pursues the goals of decentralization, it is local government that is encouraged to take charge of development projects, usually at the district or county levels. These are often put out to tender to international and northern donors and NGO’s but work through the government administrative structure. So, for example, the District Programme of Action for Children (DPAC) in Soroti district is funded and run by the German GTZ, in Kumi district by Redda Bama. The overhaul of roads and water system is underwritten by SAMCO in Soroti town and by Irish Aid in Kumi. The rehabilitation of bore holes in Soroti district funded and run by Youth With a Mission (YWAM) and Ntendikwa by Christian Initiatives in Peace (CHIPS). There is a great variety between the funding for different sub-counties in Teso as donors and NGO’s tend to choose certain small areas to specialise their efforts. Further away from Soroti, more of the development roles fall to purely government funding.
Development and reconstruction projects in Teso have also been run through the churches. They too have an administration of ‘Development Officers’ through which international and northern Christian organisations channel money. The Protestant Church of Uganda has the Soroti Diocese Development Programme (SDDP) set up in 1995 which is funded by the Netherlands Aid programme. It received a grant of £6 million in 1995. The chief administrator is Dutch. This supports schools, church health care projects, and widow and orphan groups as well as cattle re-stocking programmes. The Church of Uganda also works with missionary personnel from western countries, for example teachers and mechanics
75 who run some of the projects and applies to other Protestant agencies (Tear Fund, Christian Aid, TDT) for money. The Catholic organisation is SOCADIDO (Soroti Catholic Diocese Development Organisation) which gains funds from Catholic development agencies such as CAFOD in the UK and thus supports parish initiatives in adult literacy, health care, women’s groups and small loans schemes. These are administered by the missions throughout Teso. In the neighbouring parish to Nyadar, Achumet, was a Catholic Mission of White Fathers. The Mission oversaw an Aids camp funded by CAFOD and SOCADIDO projects. The Pentecostal Assemblies of God (PAG) also have a large development programme funded by PAG churches around the world. They also apply to independent charities and have a large indigenous funding base.
There are a number of international and northern bodies who set up projects independent of government or church institutions. On a large scale for example DFID is funding the overhaul of the Agricultural Research Station in Teso and investing in research in agro-forestry and food security. On a smaller scale NGOs such as The Red Cross, World Vision, Mennonite Central Committee, Peace Corps, Christian Children’s Fund, Health Net International, Christian Vet Mission have branches and personnel in Soroti. They fund education, health education, Aids education, Aids care, orphans groups, small business enterprises, agro- forestry and livestock projects. Teso Development Trust continues in a funding capacity.
Lastly are an ever-expanding array of indigenous Ugandan-run NGO’s. These are either national bodies such as the Uganda Women’s Effort to Save Orphans (UWESO) whose founder was Janet Museveni. Or they are local to Teso. Two of the most successful are Vision Terudo which has solicited outside funds to help in the reconstruction of ten communities in Kumi district and The Matilong Youth Project. This is a group of former UP A rebels who is funded by Christian Aid and who invest in agricultural projects.
The outlook of reconstruction initiatives has changed over the years since the war. There has been a steady concern with improving infrastructure, schools, water
76 supplies, road systems. In the early years after the war, however, most efforts were directed at consolidating food security (Robinson 1996). Whilst living in the camps populations had relied upon food acquired from relief agencies, from trade or from the piecemeal agriculture conducted under the supervision of the army. When they returned home they returned to land uncultivated for three years with a lack of cattle for ploughing and resorted to hoe farming. The agricultural base was seriously diminished and barely provided a level of subsistence particularly after the cassava mosaic disease which further reduced the food security of homes and culminated in 1994 with widescale famine in Teso. The Protestant church launched a campaign to give out Mosaic-free Cassava stems throughout Teso, the Catholic Church gave free sacks of seeds for millet, groundnuts and sweet potato vines. Cattle re-stocking programmes through the government and churches gave oxen to community groups.
The agricultural base in Teso remains vulnerable. In 1997 the El Nino effect resulted in a failure of the first rains destroying much of the first round of crops. People survived on the success of the 1996 agricultural year which was reported as the most abundant since the war but there was widespread hunger and Catholic Missions were once again involved in providing relief food. Never the less the priority of reconstruction programmes has shifted since 1994 from ‘food security’ to ‘capacity building’, from emergency aid to development priority.
In Teso as a whole there were three major concerns of reconstruction considered on the national political level. First were relations with the Karamojong. A debate in the parliament during 1996 had concluded that no moves would be made to disarm the Karamojong. This was a source of opposition by Iteso MPs. Second were moves to improve the transport, road and trade systems. The government gave a special grant to overhaul the system of roads in Soroti town. In 1998 a new market was built with municipal funds. In the years since 1992 there has certainly been a burgeoning economy in Teso. This growth of business and transport is, however, as much to do with private entrepreneurship than government policy. Lastly debates were taking place over the possibility for a cultural leader - imorimor , for Teso.13 It was hoped that this would be on a par with the kingship of
77 other Ugandan regions and would raise the profile of cultural claims for Teso. This growth of claims for a national ethnic identity is mirrored in other parts of Uganda undergoing post conflict reconstruction, areas similarly marginalised from the initial NRM control of Uganda.14 It can be seen as a middle way between support for Museveni and the NRM and military opposition as espoused by the UPA.
THE PERCEPTION OF WAR AND PEACE IN NYADAR
Having outlined the history of the war in Teso I now move to look at how people in Nyadar themselves understand this recent past. To do this I rely upon the idioms, metaphors and narratives that people used to talk about the war whilst I was in Nyadar, idioms that refer to their own experiences of those events. Indeed it was rare to hear people use the format of years to divide and explain their past. Instead they referred to historical events and divided historical eras through the meaning of those events, meanings embedded in experience, description and memory. For example I heard the following historical eras referred to in conversation in Nyadar:
Kolo sec ‘long ago’ literally ‘behind, in the past’: pre colonialism/ traditional past Parasia ‘days of the musungu’: colonialism, pre independence numusungut Parasia nObote ‘days o f Obote’: 1962 to 1970 Parasia nAmin ‘days of Amin’: 1970 to 1979 Parasia nObote II ‘days of Obote II’: 1980 to 1985 Parasia nuejei ‘days of the war of Museveni’: Museveni taking power 1986 Museveni Parasia niloke ‘days of Kajong raiding’: 1979 to 1988 Parasia nurebolis ‘days of rebels’: 1986 to 1991 Parasia nucamp ‘days of the camp’: 1989 to 1991 Parasia nakerit ‘days of running’: 1979 to 1991 Parasia ededeng ‘dangerous days’: 1979 to 1991
78 Parasia naroko ‘days when the land was bad’: war ekwap Parasia ededeng ‘days of dangerous hunger’: 1989 to 1992, 1994, 1997 Netenge Parasia emamei ‘days when there were no salt’: during Amin and rebel amunyo insurgency Parasia eliling ‘days when the earth was quiet’: 1992 to the present ekwap
Thus the people of Nyadar divided and understood the past through the character of that period. They divided history according to eras of national rule, these falling under the category of who had been in control. This defines the period up to 1986 as the national leadership of; the colonials, Obote, Amin and Obote II respectively. But from 1979 distinction is given to the influence of the Karamojong. In 1986 it is seen that the influence of the Karamojong and the rebels become as salient for Teso as the leadership of Museveni even though his war of succession is acknowledged. Otherwise history is described with reference to circumstances. From 1979 to 1992 there are days of the camp, of running, of danger, when the land was bad, of hunger and a lack of salt. This builds a picture of a compound of suffering, threat and want compared to which the post-war period, 1992 onwards which has been a time of peace. Yet in the classification of both 1994 and 1997 as ‘days of dangerous hunger’ is recognition that hardship still continues and that the post-conflict era is not without its own problems.15
Within these historical periods people in Nyadar tended to locate their own personal history with reference to stages of their household and family development; judging events as happening against when they had built their various houses on the home compound, or when various of their children had been bom. Within broader frames of national and regional history, the household forms the key site of personal history and identity.
79 ‘Life’ and ‘Loss’
Over and above the descriptions of historical eras and the location of people within these according to their personal circumstances, there were two concepts through which people in Nyadar divided their history; the concept of ‘life’- aijar and ‘poverty/suffering’- ichan. The use of these concepts came in different ways. In 1996, for example, during the Presidential conference in Teso ‘Teso Steps Forward with Peace’ the Anglican Bishop of Teso, Geresom Illukor, a man widely acclaimed as having stood by his people in the years of crisis, gave a simple yet vivid description of the recent history of Teso. He drew a graph that showed the history of Teso divided into three phases; flourishing before the conflict, going through ‘Hell’ during the conflict and now slowly emerging.16 He, like so many others, made reference to the fact that prior to the conflict people had ‘enjoyed life’ - aiboete ejok kede aijar (literally ‘sat well with life’), that during the conflict people had Tost life’ - emamete aijar or ichan , and that since the end of the conflict ‘life has begun again’ - ageunet aijar bobo or that there had been a ‘return to life’ - abongun aijar.
Both Toss’ - ichan and ‘life’ - aijar are multifaceted concepts in Ateso. Ichan is a deeply evocative word in Teso, stated with much depth of feeling. It means both ‘poverty’ and ‘suffering’ thus referring to both the material and emotional dimensions of devastating experiences. Aijar ‘life’ is more complicated to explain. It refers primarily to a ‘way of life’, to the understanding of what life should ideally entail, to the values and priorities of Iteso society. As I stated in the Introduction, it is the closest one can get in Ateso to the concept of ‘culture’. When people in Nyadar explained their customs and ways of doing things they affirmed that “that’s our life” - “ eipone lu aijar wok”. This is a statement of identity rather than tradition.17 On a personal level aijar also refers to the ability to be the person one would like to be. Aijar implies the conditions that allow one to be the person one would like to be as those ambitions are defined by cultural values. Aijar thus refers to personal effectiveness within the framework of what the Iteso understand it means to be a person. This agency had material implications. There was one young man from Nyadar who was described as
80 “really having life” - “aboi ngesi kede aijar” (literally “he sits with life”). He had by far and above the most numerous material assets of anyone in the area. On occasions that he purchased a new possession, a radio, a mattress, a bicycle or times that he held a beer party into the night with drinking and music, people exclaimed “That’s really life” - “Aijar cut!”. ‘Life’ is a material condition, of comfort and possession but in a broader sense the agency of ‘life’ was understood as the autonomy and ability to effect desires. The young man mentioned above was said to be a good example of ‘having life’ because he was able, more than anyone else, to do, go where and get what he wanted. Those who ‘knew life’ had the ability to be an effective example of what people in Nyadar considered it to be an actor in the world.
Bearing these definitions in mind I turn now to describe the pre-war, war and post-war periods in the ways that people in Nyadar themselves perceive and experienced them.
The Pre-War Period: Sitting well with Life
In Nyadar, as throughout Teso, when people talk of the time immediately prior to the conflict, they talk of a when people ‘really had life’. What they refer to here is a time of wealth, prosperity and development. The Iteso see ‘development’ as a key principle of their identity. It is a principle stressed in their oral tradition. Although Webster (1979: 1) suggests that the Iteso have little oral history as compared to their Luo neighbours, a tradition of origin, Amootoi ka Etesot (1946) has been recorded. It is still cited by present day Iteso who tells of their ancestors migrating from Ethiopia to Teso over six ages or generations. This tradition of origin and migration is significant on different levels. Firstly as a history it gives explanation for the formation of socio-cultural life in Teso.18 Secondly, as a myth the story of origin is used by present day Iteso to stress the principle of development. This is in comparison to the myths of origin of many other Ugandan peoples that stress the principle of creation (Webster et al 1973: 20; Emudong 1974). The Iteso understand that in moving from Ethiopia the people of each age colonised new land and established a higher , level of progress than the ancestors
81 they had left behind both geographically and developmentally. The myth of origin is cited as a history of increasing knowledge and sophisticated livelihood skills.
In particular the oral history stresses a split occurring in the fifth age between old men - amojong, who stayed behind and the young men who moved on once more to found the sixth and final age. It is said that the old men are the ancestors of the Karamojong people (amojong root of Karamojong) and the young men who went forward to eventually die and be buried - ates (root of Iteso) in the area further south are the ancestors of the Iteso. (Webster et al 1973: 29). Today the Iteso still refer to the Karamojong as their uncles and linguistic similarities ensure communication. However the divergence between the two groups is marked. Whereas the Karamojong were and still pastoralists, present day Iteso stress the ‘progress’ of their ancestors in shifting to settled agriculture combined with pastoralism. In addition the split between the two groups is compounded by a history of conflict and raiding. Whilst Iteso refer to the Karamojong as their uncles, they also consider Karamojong ‘enemies’ who have long inflicted destruction and the loss of cattle through raiding. From the Iteso point of view the Karamojong are both historical relations, traditional enemies and developmentally ‘backwards’, regarded with antagonism and fear. Today the Iteso refer to Karamojong as Ilok, which contemptuously implies “naked people who smell.” In terms of development the Iteso see the Karamojong constituting a base line representing the state from which they have moved on.
The Teso area was colonised and made part of the British protectorate of Uganda from 1896 onwards.19 Today people throughout Teso understand the ensuing changes wrought by the colonial period as a continuation of their history of development, development that started with the break from Karamojong lands and practices and culminates in the pre-war period of wealth and prosperity.
Nagashima (1998: 230) stresses four key aspects of the early colonial history in Teso. First he points out the introduction of a colonial system of bureaucratic chiefs, which rapidly undermined traditional systems of authority such as age-sets (Lawrence 1955: 38). As a result the segmentary organisation of Iteso social life
82 prior to colonialism was rapidly transformed into a district-wide administration with institutionalised chiefs. Thus the process of social differentiation, which Vincent (1968) documents for west Teso, was started. Anthony and Uchendu (1975: 21) (also Emudong 1974: 158) suggest that, in line with this centralisation, the growth of a district-wide political consciousness of identity in Teso was rapid, particularly as economic change and differentiation from the Karamojong gained pace.
Second, Nagashima notes the opening of Anglican and Catholic missions with schools, churches and clinics starting in 1907. The development of an
00 infrastructure of Christianity and education was again rapid in Teso. Both Christianity and education proved popular especially amongst those chiefs involved in regional administration whose sons, having passed through the education and religious system, were more likely to gain preferment in administrative appointments. It was in this trend, claims Vincent (1982: 158), which contributed to the formation of a “class” system amongst the Iteso. A top stratum of those with education involved in administration emerged. Beyond this were a rural sector mobilised in construction jobs and labour for the emerging cotton industry and beyond that a rural population focused solely on household farming (c.f. Orumi 1994: 55; Mamdani 1992: 195). The consequence was that, within the newly formed unit of Iteso regional identity, the system of hierarchical chiefly organisation was compounded with social differentiation built on education and religious affiliation. Families and lineage’s of an educated ‘class’ emerged alongside and in the same area as families and lineage’s whose orientation was solely towards household agriculture. Those households with educated members often had access to salaries and the opportunities for greater wealth. As the distinction between wealthier and less wealthy household in the same area grew, a system of patronage emerged. This patronage was conducted through exchanges based on cattle and cattle products.
Education became hugely important in Teso in the consolidation of a social system of wealth and opportunity. But it also became important in terms of a
83 regional identity. The Iteso have long prided themselves on having been an educationally progressive area (Atai-Okei 1993: 6). There have been high rates of education and subsequent professional employment in Teso since the colonial era. It was this infrastructure that took more and more Iteso personnel into influential positions at the national level of Uganda, positions that were to have ramifications in the later post colonial history.
Third, Nagashima notes the establishing of urban centres in Teso by Asian traders as early as 1908. The centres were founded alongside the building of a road infrastructure throughout the area. By 1930 the locations of service centres with Asian shops throughout Teso was very much as it is today (Funnell 1972: 26). The strength of the network had two implications. First it located business and trade transactions outside the hands of the Iteso, a situation which continued until the expulsion of Asians from Uganda in 1972. Secondly however it brought the rapid introduction of imported materials and goods into Teso. By the mid 1930s it was rare to see an Itesot without clothing made from imported manufactured cotton.21
Finally, Nagashima points out the impact of the introduction of cotton cultivation combined with ox ploughing which was carried out on small scale Iteso household based farms rather than by European settlers. Cotton growing was introduced in Teso in 1908 via the CMS station at Kumi. The station gave out cotton seeds to local households and instruction in how to farm the crop. The harvests were brought at the household level by British administrators and canoed over the lake to Buganda using paid Itesot labour. In 1911 ox ploughs were introduced at Kumi in order to increase the acreage of cotton under cultivation. A experimental cotton station was founded with instructors who spread out over Teso to teach the new form of agriculture and technology. Cotton growing was phenomenally successful in Teso and by 1913 the area was producing a third of the entire crop from the Uganda protectorate (Lawrence 1955: 27). Household heads increasingly bought their own ploughs and by 1925 1154 ox ploughs were in use in Kumi county alone (Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 36). The opening of the railway in 1928 facilitated export of the crop from the area. Through the following decades cotton
84 ginneries and storage plants were built throughout Teso. Not only was almost the entire population involved in growing cotton at the household level but hundreds were also employed in the processing and transporting industries.
Profits from cotton in Teso declined in the late 1940s and households increasingly turned to other cash crops (Wilson & Watson 1953: 194). Yet the introduction and success of the crop had had vital historical influence on Teso. It gave all households potential access to monetary income. The degrees of wealth in Teso, though not unilateral, were of steady growth through the colonial period. Indeed the area was often cited by colonial officers of the time as a “model” of economic transformation and achievement (Orumi 1994: 55).22 It is certain that the comparative wealth and development of the Iteso on the eve of Ugandan Independence in 1962 and beyond was founded on the impact of cotton cash cropping.
In just under fifty years the colonial project had immense impact and wrought significant social change in Teso. Such changes are highly valued by present day Iteso. For them the final years before Independence and the decade following, the 1950s and 1960s, mark a pinnacle of development, a “golden era” before the turbulence of the 1970s and 1980’s (e.g. Opio 1996). This is the period in which people in Teso say they really enjoyed ‘life’. The prosperity forms a backdrop to the present in a very material sense. The bullet scarred remains of cotton ginneries, factories, railways stations and schools stand derelict • and unused. 23 Large brick, tin roofed, houses built by wealthy chiefs and administrators can be found in almost every village, broken and unkempt. This evidence of former prosperity links to a sense amongst the Iteso that the aim of the present post-war recovery is to reconstruct a degree of wealth and standard of ‘life’ from the past, a return to what has already been.
For the Iteso the changes established through colonialism form a sense of identity, a sense of identity that is expressed using two indicators. Once again the Iteso again use their relationship with yet difference to the Karamojong as an expression of their pre-war ‘development’. Iteso, it is pointed out, wear western
85 clothes, ride bicycles and, if educated, speak English. In the 1950s and 1960s Iteso owned vehicles and built brick houses. This is a comparison they draw to the Karamojong who wear skins and beads and live in grass shelters. People in Teso understand that the history of colonialism in the area compounded the difference between the historical, developmental and geographical “backwardness” - ekaukau (both ‘in the past’ and ‘backward’), of the Karamojong and the Iteso who are said to be “up to date” - nuk’aparasia (‘of these days’). It is not just, however, comparisons with the Karamojong that Iteso use to stress their pre-war identity. As will be discussed in Chapters Three and Five, they also indicate it through reference to the wealth in cattle in the region during this period.
The discourse of development pervades the local as well as the regional level in Teso. In Nyadar people are proud of the relative wealth of their past. The first residents of Nyadar only moved into the area in the 1930s.24 By the 1950s there was the complete infrastructure of schools, clinics, churches and roads that exists today. The trading centre in Nyadar, Oditel, also began to develop at this time.25 The first iron roofed house was built there in 1949. By 1951 there were twelve. Oditel increasingly became a centre of residence for teachers and administrative officials, they rented out houses but often built their own later and settled in the area . In 1950 the market in Oditel was officially registered. Two store-houses for cotton were built and Asian traders visited Oditel every week to buy cotton or crops and to sell goods. A cattle market was opened in 1952 and in 1958 a man from Buganda set up a grinding machine to process crops. There were daily buses between Kapelebyong and Soroti. The general prosperity that marked Teso at this time was evidenced in Nyadar in the increasingly large herds of cattle held by some men. There were amongst some of the largest in Teso given that the area of the north was suited better to cattle keeping rather than agriculture. The largest herd of cattle numbered 272 owned by a man who traded in cattle and was also a parish chief. He, like others, lost all his cattle in the period of conflict between 1979 and 1991.
Throughout Teso when people talk of the pre-war period they talk of ‘life’. They refer to a way of life incorporating the wealth and change bought by colonialism
86 and consolidated in the 1960s and 1970s when Teso held a central place in the national politics of Uganda. This is the meaning they impart to and experienced in the pre-war period and the ‘life’ that they see themselves to have lost. For people in Nyadar the pre-war period exemplifies the meaning of ‘life’. I turn now to look at the meaning people in Nyadar give to the experience of war.
The War: Loss of Life
The oldest residents of Nyadar tell many stories of their continual skirmishes with the Karamojong. They have passed onto their children and grandchildren tales of fighting conducted in the 1930s and 1940s with spears, bows, arrows and shields. A sharp contrast is made, however, between these encounters in which Iteso are reported as usually victorious and as ‘powerful’ - agogon, and the Karamojong raid which occurred in 1979. During the night of 25th November a legion of Karamojong swept through Nyadar, as groups did throughout Teso. It was a heavily armed and highly organised army. The legions broke into smaller groups each choosing a couple of households. Tactics varied, in some households the kraal was raided and the cattle stolen without waking the occupants. In some homes the occupants were woken, the cows demanded and resistance was met with brutality and death. In others those who awoke during the raid and ran out to defend the home were shot, women were abducted and raped. Still other homes had their granaries looted and possessions taken and yet some homes were completely untouched. Overall hundreds of cows were stolen.
Whilst the devastation and breadth of this initial raid was rarely replicated, it marked the beginning of six years of major insecurity for the population of Nyadar at the hands of the Karamojong. Armed groups of Karamojong came during the day and night to raid and loot homes. The people of Nyadar could hear their approach by the sound of gunshots and would take to the bush with their clothes and sleeping materials, spending many long fearful nights hiding, without cooking or eating. Homes found empty by the Karamojong were burnt down, as were schools and churches. Nyadar primary school was burnt down and rebuilt twice over this period. It was later burnt down again by a UPA rebel attack.
87 Throughout the early eighties defence was offered by the local militia group, The People’s Army (PA) who fought against Karamojong raiding groups. In 1983 the Nyadar defence group caught a famed Karamojong leader and killed him publicly in Oditel. A few weeks later a revenge attack by Karamojong on Nyadar saw many houses blazed to the ground and people shot. The situation in the parish deteriorated during 1984 and 1985 parallel with the general lack of order in Ugandan national politics. There were numerous small scale raids. Over these years many in Nyadar moved into Oditel, feeling that a collective gathering under the watch of the PA unit would offer grater protection. Many temporary houses were built and it is at this time that Oditel became referred to as ‘the camp’. However in 1985, on the 11th July, a Karamojong unit launched an attack directly on the camp. Eleven men were killed, the shops and market looted and the Protestant church burnt down. After this many families decided to return to their home lands where the bush, now rapidly overgrown with the loss of cattle grazing, afforded more protection. Others remained in the camp.
The raids of 1979, 1983 and 1985 are referred to in Nyadar as raids by “the dangerous Karamojong” or “the Karamojong with tails”. Whilst it is recognised that all Karamojong are potentially dangerous, the “Karamojong with tails” are held as a particularly potent representation of the evils of the time, a force with both supernatural and military backing. As discussed in Chapter Six, the metaphor of “tails” is an illusion to mythical beasts, narrated in tales and stories, who deceive and disturb people with their cunning. It is the incursion and the impact wrought by “Karamojong with tails” that, people in Nyadar say, precipitated the UPA rebellion against Museveni.26
On 14th February 1987 a meeting was called in Oditel to announce the UPA rebellion. Amongst the leaders there were those who had been local administrative officials under the Obote regime and those who had been members of the local PA unit, a unit now disbanded in name by Museveni, if not in arms. At the meeting play was made of the supposed sympathies between the NRM and “the dangerous Karamojong” and calls were made for young men to join up to the UPA
88 organisation. Several young men volunteered and went later to join the UPA mobile columns in training. Others were formed into agwayo groups. Whilst the number initially actively involved with the UPA rebellion in Nyadar was small, over the following years many formed their own self proclaimed groups under the general UPA aegis.
In August 1987 an NRA unit passed through Oditel on the way to a barracks further north. People in . the centre shut their doors as the soldiers marched through. However one man, who was thought to have been sent mad by witchcraft, ran out of his home and started shouting at the soldiers. He was shot dead, his body dismembered and put up on a rusting sign post in the middle of the centre. When his wife ran out to stop the soldiers she too was shot. This incident, which is widely cited amongst the present day population of the camp, is held as the beginning violent moment of the long years of UPA rebel and NRA hostility in which many others were killed in similarly horrific ways.27
Over the following years the populations of Nyadar would be, at times, beset by direct violence. At other periods there would be peace in the area. Sometimes both army units and rebel groups were encamped nearby, at others there was no contact. For months there might be no safe way of entering and leaving the area, at others, the road to Soroti would be clear with traffic moving. The violence, when it came, was unpredictable and cruel. By 1988 a culture of rumour and counter accusation was rife in Nyadar. NRA soldiers acted on tip off as to who were rebel supporters and would raid homes, killing and looting. Those said to be traditional healers were particularly targeted. It took as little as a suspected rebel to be seen drinking beer at someone’s house for a charge of anti-government insubordination to be given and the home targeted. Likewise ever proliferating rebel groups acted on rumours as to those who supported the NRM government and who were acting as informers. In 1988 local elections were held in Nyadar to elect representatives for an RC system in the parish. Many of those who turned out to vote and who were elected were later attacked by rebel groups. It is also said that by this time rebel groups could be paid and hired to carry out attacks on
89 personal vendettas. With escalating violence many moved into Oditel for protection or fled to Soroti.
The worst of the insecurity in Nyadar seems to have come in late 1988. In October a permanent NRA barracks was established in Oditel. People of Oditel tell of a memorable attack launched by rebels on this barracks in which seven NRA soldiers were killed. It was from this barracks that the order came in January 1989 for the population of Nyadar and of the other neighbouring parishes to move off their lands into a camp at Oditel. People were, at first, slow to comply but their move was precipitated by two pieces of NRA action. First, three well known and respected community characters were captured and taken to the NRA barracks where they were heavily beaten and tortured. They were released and told to take the message that if people did not move into the camp there would be widespread killing. Second NRA soldiers marched into a village and shot dead nine people, burning their bodies in their houses. The soldiers stated that if the population was not in the camp by the next evening more would be killed. Within a few days Nyadar and the surrounding parishes were deserted with 2500 households congregated in Oditel. The soldiers went around burning down homes in the village. As people had walked into the camp they had stripped them of much of value.
During my fieldwork in Nyadar were reluctant to talk of the events of the violence previous to this but they found it even harder to talk of the time in the camp. They implied that the “days of the camp” were months of unspeakable distress.29 A curfew was imposed with everyone inside by 7pm. Food was scarce. Many young girls and women were subjected to repeated sexual abuse by soldiers in the barracks. Men and boys carried out forced labour for the soldiers. Two incidents were told to me to represent the terror of those days. The first was a description of a day in the dry season on which the entire population of the camp was ordered to line up in front of the barracks. They spent the whole day standing without water whilst the soldiers waved their guns in front of them. One elderly woman collapsed with dehydration. The second incident is told as a measure of the futility of the situation. After some months in the camp a rebel group attacked Oditel at
•90 night and set fire to about half of the huts. This was in accusation against villagers who had shown apparent allegiance for the NRA by moving into the camp. In the camp people were dispossessed from their homes, in constant shadow of violence and victimised by both sides. The cause of the UPA, NRA conflict was lost in an experience of general suffering and fear.
Narratives of the conflict
The events and suffering of the conflict, which I have outlined above, formed the daily experience of people in Nyadar for over twelve years. When people in people talked to me of such events they often used the very generalised idiom of ichan for their experiences rather than touching upon specific events (this will be further discussed in Chapter Six). What people in Nyadar understand constitutes the condition of ‘suffering/poverty’ - ichan , is given in following descriptions of the war. John Eiru was a secondary school boy and gave his description of the war when I visited him in his home in Oditel. Immaculate lived in one of the villages in Nyadar and gave her description during a group discussion with a number of young people from the Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group.
“My name is John Eiru and I have lived in this camp for many years, ever since we started running from the Karamojong. This land became insecure when the Karamojong started to bring problems. Then it came that the only thing for us to do was to run, run very fast all the time so that you gave out dust when you ran; running from the Karamojong. We really suffered. The Karamojong had a lot of lust in their body, stealing our cattle and they introduced the god of death, that is the gun. They left us as only people, living alone without cattle. In some villages they left only women and children and killed all the men, so now we in Teso have too many widows. We had to run from their god of death, run and sometimes hide in grass, run and sometimes hide in a rock. If you were a woman and you had a child who was crying then no one would accept to hide with you. That is really suffering. And that is why the rebels decided that it was up to them to finish things off. And that too brought terrible suffering and too much killing. But we believe that God knows all those things and now the land has chosen to be peaceful so we are comforted.”
91 John Eiru, 23, Kapelebyong, 30.8.97
“We young people suffered grossly at that time. We could not acquire clothes and went around in tatters. There was no soap and we had to extract roots from plants to wash with. There were no bed sheets; we had to use sacks for sleeping on. You woke up and your whole body was white with dust. We all dressed like people who are fishing in the lake; it was an ancient way of dressing. But at least now things have improved....There was death, sleeping in the bush, and death in terrible ways. Even today you can find the skeletons lying scattered in the bush of people who were killed in embarrassing conditions. Soldiers became senseless, killing innocent people just because they wanted their clothes from them. It was impossible even to reach to Akoromit [10 km away]. The worst thing was that people began to fear young people since they suspected them of being agwayo and many of our young men were taken to prison....well there is a lot I could say about those days. There was no unity and everyone went their own way with destructive and evil thoughts. People were hunted like wild animals and it looked like it was a crime to meet a fellow human being. Imagine meeting someone who is the same as you, in the same image as you, and forcing them to death with a gun. Well it is a fact that those things took place here and the suffering was terrible.”
Immaculate Imineu, 20, Nyadar, 10.6.97
What is stressed here is the inhumanity of conditions in the conflict, the inhumanity of social relations, of life lived in fear and fleeing and of material conditions. But this is inhumanity on Iteso terms, in which a loss in certain principles of social life is to regress to an “ancient” condition, antithetical to the principles of modernity and development, which constitute understandings of ‘life’.
The End of the War
For people in Nyadar the beginning of the end of their experience of war came in 1990. Then, under a government initiative, a Catholic Mission with two White Fathers was founded near to Oditel, in the neighbouring parish to Nyadar. The leader of the mission, a father from Germany, earned the staunch respect of the
92 camp population by installing an air raid siren and ringing it in the event of a rebel attack. He confronted rebel groups asking them to stop harming their own people and to take advantage of the government amnesty. Many from Nyadar who had belonged to rebel groups came out of the bush and joined one of the NRM rehabilitation programmes. For the young this involved being taken to school in the south of Uganda. For the older it often meant retraining as NRA soldiers. Still others were reabsorbed into family and local life. The Catholic Mission became the centre for aid relief in the area and has since founded a health clinic and secondary school.
Many people in Nyadar point to an incident in 1991 as representative of the end of the war. Most, at this time, where still resident in Oditel. In May 1991 a fierce battle had occurred in the area between the NRA and UPA. The UPA group suffered heavy losses and a few hours later a group of rebels was seen approaching the camp with a white flag. Ketty, who lived as a single mother with her mother in Oditel and had dropped out of school during her A levels because of getting pregnant, was one of my closest friends in Nyadar. She told me about the day when she knew the war was over:
“I was standing by the bore-hole at that time and I saw the rebels approach from the north. My heart grew afraid and I wanted to run fast because I knew those people and they were terrible ones. Then slowly, slowly I saw that they had a flag and they were approaching, not stubbornly, like they used to, but sweetly, singing songs and laughing. They walked right past where I was standing. I was just standing not running like I would have done in those days of war. They walked right past and into the [NRA] barracks. Later I heard that they had decided to come out of the bush. From that day all of us began to hope that life was coming back and we began to praise God for keeping us through it all.”
Ketty Akol, 25, Oditel 1.3.98
93 Post-war recovery: the ‘return to life’
For people in Nyadar the end of the conflict marks the beginning of another period of history; one they refer to as the ‘return to life’. This notion of a ‘return to life’ is evident in the following transcript of a play, one of many performed by young people in Nyadar during my fieldwork. In the play the young people depict the time of war and the coming of peace. The play tells the story of a family, a mother and father and their two sons. The elder son is a UPA rebel fighting in the bush, his younger brother acts as an informant giving UPA rebels information as to the whereabouts of NRA government soldiers. The play starts with their father who, fearing that with his sons fighting for the UPA he will be targeted by NRA soldiers, decides to go into hiding in the bush. He leaves behind his wife in the camp, there she is approached by NRA soldiers who capture the youngest son and kill him.
Old Man sitting with his two sons and wife. Father. “My children. You know these days of rebels and NRA, there is no room to be a threesome. If you cooperate with both sides, it is over for you. Therefore I must leave you because my life has become dangerous. My children, if those NRA come and find me here they will bring their guns and their annoyance and I will die. My wife, keep the home well for me and pray for me for death is near.”
The Father sets off for the bush leaving his wife in the camp where she is approached by NRA soldiers. Soldier. “Woman, bring me beer! Bring me a cigarette! Bring me water! Do you think it is a joke fighting these bushmen? I need chicken! You boy! I know you little person. You are the one helping the rebels. Come here! Come here! Stop shaking and shivering. Do you have epilepsy? We are suffering from the likes of you. This one is fit to take away. This one is finished already. Come let’s go! Let’s go and dig rice.311 know you, you were the one spying on us, telling the rebels where to shoot their guns. You, little one, are finished.”
The NRA soldiers take off the youngest son and kill him. His body is found later by his friends. Friend: “Look here, just here, see the tracks of soldiers.” “What is this? They have shot a boy.” “Whose son is this?” “I don’t know, is it the son of Acakumbont?”
94 “Is it a body? I can’t tell. Or is it broken flesh?” “Yes, it is person. Look it is still warm.” “Olululuiii [screams]” “Look, here is a thigh, here is a hand.” “Stop making all that noise, the soldiers will hear us.” “Oh! His mother is going to weep.”
The oldest son visits his father in hiding in the bush, taking him food and cooked chicken. Father. “My child. What news?” Son: “Oh father, death is coming for us all and if you come back home, death will come for you also.” Father: “Look at my skin. It is like the skin of a person with scabies. Look at the body of a man in poverty. Eh! What is wrong with this chicken you brought me? Is this a chicken from home? There is no goodness in this chicken. This is a sour hen. My child, let us leave war behind and go to sweeten our chickens. Here I am with a sour chicken and I cannot leave the bush yet else a bullet will pierce me in the eye. It is very bad. Let us share the same thought. This thing has become meaningless and hopeless. We are all opposing one another. It is time to unite. We should be eating like Museveni, not sitting here with bodies like those with scabies. I produced children. I did not produce them so that they would perish. It is time to open our eyes and let the earth become good again. Come, come my child. You have worked hard. Now it is time for us to leave the bush and to return to our villages with peace.
The son leaves the rebels and returns home to be welcomed by his mother. Mother. “Look here is my son who was in the bush. Now I am happy. Thank you my son. I have eaten badly but now I will eat money. Now my son, our life has begun again.”
Nyadar Church o f Uganda Youth Group, 4.4.97
The new beginning, the ‘return to life’ after a time of ‘suffering/poverty’ - ichan, referred to in this play was borne out in the lives of people in Nyadar, people like Lucy and William Adongu with whom I lived during my fieldwork. Adongu, the father of the family, had been bom in Nyadar in 1947 on his father’s land. He had married in 1967 and set up his home on the same land. Here, in the 1970s, Adongu and his father had kept 60 cattle between them. They lost most of these in a Karamojong raid in 1979. What few cattle remained then were stolen in later raids during the 1980s. Throughout the 80s the home was attacked by raiders and
95 the family was forced to flee on numerous occasions taking cover in the bush. In 1987, after the out break of hostilities between the UPA and NRA Adongu heard rumours that he was suspected of being an NRM supporter. He fled to Soroti, under cover of night with his two oldest sons, walking the entire 80km. They stayed with relatives in the town for several months before Adongu’s wife, Lucy, sent news that it was safe for him to return. In late 1988 however, a UPA rebel group came to Adongu’s home accusing him of being an NRM supporter. They beat him almost to death and robbed his family of all they had. They were left naked and had to wrap themselves in a sheet which they had hidden in the rafters of a house. By this time people in Nyadar moving off their lands into Oditel settlement camp. The family fled to Oditel and borrowed clothes from friends there. When his children went back to the village a few days later they found only one small wooden stool and one black and white photograph of their parents taken soon after their marriage in 1967. Later in 1989 whilst living in Oditel, Adongu heard rumours that he would be attacked again. He and his wife squeezed into an army truck passing through the camp, their youngest child was thrown through the window at the last minute by a friend and they went to Soroti, later south Teso and then back to Soroti as refugees. The other children followed later, walking at night. Over the following years of exile from Nyadar two children in the family died.
Adongu and his family returned to Oditel from Soroti in 1992. They built homes in the camp and farmed on their village land. When I started living with the family in December 1996, they were still resident in the camp. A few weeks after I started to live with them Lucy took me to see their previous home in Nyadar. We walked a long way out from the camp, cutting through the surrounding bush on small weaving paths, crossing a swamp and finally left the path to enter an area of shoulder high bush and grass, taking shade under a large cashew-nut tree. I could see nothing that distinguished the place from any of the surrounding bush but this, Lucy told me, was their home. She pushed aside some of the grass and there were the charred remains of the posts of a house, the house, she told me, where she had slept from the time of her marriage to Adongu to the night when they fled the home. In another place she cleared grass off what turned out to be the graves of
96 Adongu’s mother and uncles and the grave of her own child who had died whilst the family were sleeping in the bush hiding from Karamojong raiders. We stood and she pointed out points of the home where there had been a cleared compound, where houses and granaries had stood, the large trees under which they had held beer drinking parties in the past, the remains of the fence that had marked the cattle kraal. “This” she said “used to be a very powerful and beautiful home but the war destroyed everything.”
Over the next year that I lived with them Adongu and Lucy started to rebuild their home. We all went one day to clear a compound, lay the foundation bricks for a first house and cook a meal. It was a deeply emotional and joyful occasion, much was made of the fact that this was the first time in eight years that a fire had been lit in the home. Over the next months Adongu constructed three houses. In April 1997 Adongu’s father, who had also been living in Oditel camp, died and was taken to the home for burial. In the funeral speeches, much was made of the fact that the home, in receiving visitors, was now open.
Finally, on Christmas Day 1997, the family, I with them, moved out of the camp and back home. Neighbours, friends and relatives were invited to a celebratory feast. On that first evening in the new home, in amidst the drinking and eating, there was recounted, as no other time before or after, the suffering those present had endured over the years of conflict. It was recounted in the sense that violence was the cause of so much change and grief but also in the sense that the violence was over and this was both a return and a new beginning.
For William and Lucy their return home was certainly part of the ‘return to life’ of the post-war period. The understanding of a ‘return to life’ was, however, constituted by more than such homecomings. People in Nyadar used a whole set of markers and vocabulary to paint the picture of what the end of war meant to them and what a ‘return to life’ entailed.
97 The Markers of Recovery
People in Nyadar used specific markers to measure the post-war period as ‘life’ as compared to the ichan of the war. Peter Ebenu was one of the Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group. He was nineteen years old and had recently returned with his parents to their land in Nyadar having grown up as a refugee in Oditel. He was uneducated and a dedicated farmer. During a group discussion I held with the Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group he replied to my question “How have things in Nyadar improved since the end of the war?” in the following way:
“These days we see vehicles, we see Europeans in Nyadar. How can we say that things have not improved? In the days of war we slept on the ground, sometimes in the bush. These days we sleep with proper bedding. Our borehole has been restored and many other things are now available in the area. Look at the bicycles! Our youth have improved; they have decent clothing and look like people again. Nyadar has improved. Look at Otim; if things had not improved he would not be looking after his hornless cow. You can hear him whistling without fear of being molested by anyone. He can take his animal to graze early in the morning, he can go to dig early in the morning. He no longer does things stealthily like those days in the war when life meant survival by prayer. Look at this boy with his eye glasses, a boy from the village in a remote comer and yet he dresses like an urban person. In fact the only thing left is for someone in Nyadar to buy a vehicle. People are buying things and I am sure that one day soon someone will buy a vehicle.”
Peter Ebenu, 19, Nyadar, 10.6.97
The word Ebenu uses for improvement is ‘development/growth’ - apolor. It is the word used for the growth of a child, for the movement from dependence to independence, from weakness to strength over time. The metaphor of a child was often used by people to describe their state during the war; a reduction to child like inability and loss of agency. Consequently the post conflict recovery was a time of growth and catching up.
There were two common markers, mentioned by Ebenu, which people in Nyadar cited as indicating their post war recovery, the achieving of ‘adult’-like status
98 once more. The first was the ability for movement. Life in Teso, with the history of continual migration and settlement, and the dispersed nature of households was predicated upon comings and goings. Young people, especially men, often reckoned their development and maturity by how far they had travelled. People valued the post-war period for the fact that they could move widely throughout the area and district once again. In the freedom to travel without fear of ambush was a restoration of the topography of social life. Second, people in Nyadar valued the presence of and ability to buy material goods; renewed opportunities for consumptive power. The re-emergence of bicycles, radios, mattresses, clothes and other consumer goods indicated a return to pre-war levels of wealth.
What is significant about both the markers of renewed movement and consumption by which many others, not just Ebenu measured the post-war improvement is that they imply connection to the outside world, beyond the parish, to Teso and Uganda as a whole. Consumer goods coming into Nyadar and taken as indicators of Tife’ there, originated in Kampala and Kenya. As will be discussed in Chapter Three, one of the most important sites of post-war recovery for people in Nyadar is the ‘home’. The use of movement and the presence of consumer goods to indicate recovery in Nyadar, however, emphasises the importance of another locus of reconstruction beyond the household; the relationship with the state. As outlined above, people in Teso pride themselves on their history that has involved a close relation with former regimes in Uganda. They value the number of Iteso ministers in Obote’s governments, the previous economic success of Teso with cotton growing and the previous strength of the education system (Opio 1996; Sekajja 1996). Through the antagonism with the government of Museveni this relationship with the nation had been lost and Teso marginalised. The loss was keenly felt after the war when those in Teso would hear reports of the development of the south - the new road systems, the building, the growth of towns - and the domination of the parliament by southern Ugandans. People in Teso have felt marginalised both economically and politically. They understand economic and political effectiveness as going hand in hand, understanding that those in power promote the economic interests of their own ethnic peoples. One of the major arguments against Museveni in Teso has
99 been his supposed promotion of the interests of ‘southerners’ against ‘northerners’. This marginalisation is given economic illustration in the higher prices of imported goods in Teso, as compared to prices in Kampala, the capital.33 In noticing the present opportunities for movement, the opportunities of consumption, those in Nyadar were commenting upon reconstruction as a process of re-involvement with the state, with issues of Uganda as a whole.34
Movement and consumption are not only indicators of connection to the wider polity, they also represent personal effectiveness and identity. Ebenu described how the end of the war has seen people wear better clothing. Clothing came to Nyadar from the markets of second hand clothing in Kampala, taken up-country by traders. Clothing also had meaning in Nyadar as reflecting the state of the person. In a situation where many people had only one set of working clothes and one set of smarter clothes, personal identification often took place with reference to clothing. New clothes were always noted and taken as direct indicator of a personal economic state. To have new clothes was to be ‘smart/clean/beautiful’ - elai, which was as much a description of the person as of the clothes. Consumption is, for people in Nyadar, a constituting act of personhood. It is about personal effectiveness; those who wear new clothes have ‘life’. There is another element to this however for examples of clothing were used by people to mark out different historical periods and were thought to indicate stages of historical development; ‘the past’ was the time when people wore skins, the war was the time when people wore rags and the Karamojong in their “backward culture” wear beads and sheets. In buying new clothes after the war people in Nyadar were both expressing their own personal ‘life’ and re-claiming the ‘way of life’, the relative modernity and development of Iteso culture. Both aspects of ‘life had been denied people during the war.
As will be shown in Chapter Three, movement and consumption in Nyadar are always grounded in processes of the household. At the same time they incorporate the character of relationship to the state and a degree of personal effectiveness. By using examples of consumption and travel to illustrate the improvement of Nyadar, Ebenu is suggesting improvement in the relationship of Teso to the state
100 and improvement in the ability to define, create and develop oneself. It is these three loci of reconstruction; the household, the person and the state and the way in which they incorporate ‘life’ on both a cultural and personal level that run through the meaning of post-war recovery for people in Nyadar.
The Vocabulary of Recovery
People in Nyadar also used a specific set of vocabulary to define the end of the conflict and post-war period. The process of post war improvement, of development - apolor, was conveyed in further metaphors, idioms and adverbs outlined below:
‘Normality/peace’- Apucun ; ‘peace’ - ainaipakin; ‘quietness of the earth’ - elilingo ekwap: during my fieldwork I heard people in Nyadar use this set of words to describe the state of peace in Teso, which was the basis of the recovery period. It was understood that development could only be achieved if peace prevailed; war was destructive, brought loss and retarded any initiative for growth. The peace referred to was a peace - ainaipakin, and quietness - eliling , as compared to the literal noise of the war; when the earth was full of the noise of shooting and guns. It was also a state of social life - apucun. This peace did not mean an end to suffering for the concept of suffering was very much understood to be an inevitable part of life in Nyadar, but it was the peace of normality as compared to the chaos and abnormality of the war.
‘Health’ - angalen;: ‘Picking up and moving on’- atamakit: both these words were used by people in Nyadar to describe the post-war period. They conveyed a sense of the war as a time of social pathology and illness. In comparison the post-war period was seen as a state of health alluding to growth and normal development. Atamakit refers to a ‘picking up and moving on’ but as the beginning of a process that still has a way to go. It is the term used after someone has been sick and ‘down’ with malaria or illness, relating to the start of a return to health and activity, the moment when the fever breaks. During my fieldwork I heard many conceptual links made between historical periods and illness. When elderly people
101 talked of the past, they talked about the diseases that had been and gone. Likewise Aids was referred to as ‘the disease of today’. People in Nyadar particularly associated the years in the camp with epidemics and concentrated sickness. With the term atamakit a parallel was made between the time of the war and a time of illness. Both prevent one from ‘being up to date’. When ‘down’ with sickness one is out of time with activity and social relationships. Likewise because of the war the area is now seen as ‘backward’ and not ‘up to date’ with the development of Uganda as a whole.
‘Renewed/made new/made beautiful’ - eteteun ; ‘clean’- aitalaun: these were words used to describe the physical state of homes and of Oditel. It was a comparison to the war situation when homes had become overgrown with bush due to a lack of occupation, when sewage lay open in the camp. The words reflected on the increasing organisation of post-war social life rather than a chaotic state of affairs. In cleanliness was beauty, an aesthetic outcome of recovery and development.
‘To repair/prepare’- aitemokin: this word was used to indicate the material physicality of recovery, the rebuilding of houses, of roads and water sources. There was an understanding that things were only repaired in order to be prepared for something. In other words to repair was to predict a future. People assumed that in the ‘repair’ of Nyadar there was more to come, there was a claim on the future.
‘Going [forward]’ - elotar: in Nyadar the idea of recovery whether after ill health or after war was understood as the ability to move onwards. Movement in Iteso is informed by a complex of time and space in which to be behind is to be in the past, to be in front is to be in the future. The word eapie means both ‘near’ and ‘soon’, elwana both ‘far’ and ‘long’. Thus ‘to go forward’ after the war was to regain a state of being ‘up to date’ and modem, both for individual persons, households and Teso as a whole. The ability to go forward was to be free from the disablement wrought by war.
102 ‘Better’ - ajokar; ‘a new beginning/life’ - ageun: the post-war period was described simply as ‘good’, ejok. It was seen as better than what had been before, as a time of improvement, of renewed potential and possibility. This declaration of goodness contained a moral judgement. ‘Goodness’ was seen to stem from God as compared to ‘evil’, aronis from the Devil. Evil incorporated a sense of death and loss (aronis means ‘evil’, ‘death’ and ‘a grave’), goodness a sense of life and growth. People in Nyadar constantly demarcated the war and post war period between a moral evil and good. As will be discussed in Chapter Seven, they narrated war events with reference to Biblical parallels. The move to the camps was paralleled with Judaic exile, a time of God’s judgement when the Devil was in control. A new start/life - ageun , was also a religious expression. It was the word used when people experienced religious conversion. People often inferred that they survived the war because they were chosen and ‘loved’ by God and so their new life after the war marked a difference in their understanding of God. Post-war recovery was thus described as a moral beginning. It was also a new beginning in the sense that they were starting again from nothing. In this sense the war was the definitive moment separating the past and the future.
‘To make life comfortable’ - itelakarit aijar. people in Nyadar understood that the whole project of recovery was one of ‘comforting life’. As in English the Ateso word ilelakar, has both material and emotional reference. ‘Comforting life’ involved the physical processes of recovering wealth and possession and dealing with the emotion impact of the suffering and loss bought by war. ‘Comforting life’ was concerned with dealing with the ‘poverty/suffering’ - ichan, and loss of war.
CONCLUSION: A RETURN TO LIFE
When Bishop Illukor described the history of the Iteso he drew out three distinct periods, the pre-war prosperity, the “Hell” of the conflict and the coming of peace and period of recovery. In this chapter I have given the historical background to the conflict which wrought such a perceived downwards turn in the fortunes of Teso and have discussed the history of peace and reconstruction throughout the
103 region. I then elaborated how people in Nyadar themselves describe and perceive this history. People in Nyadar described the recovery process as a ‘return to life’ - abongun aijar. This idiom extended into descriptions of other historical periods. It was commonly held that prior to ithe conflict people had ‘enjoyed life’, that during the conflict people had ‘lost life’, through ichan, and that since the end of the conflict ‘life has begun again’ - ajgeunet aijar bobo.
‘Suffering/poverty’ - i chan, prevailed during the ‘days of the camp’, ‘the days of the rebels’, ‘the days of running’, ‘the dangerous days’, ‘the days of dangerous hunger’, ‘the days of the Kajong”, ‘the days when there was no salt’ and ‘the days when the earth was bad’. Ichan is given graphic depictment in the play performed by members of the Nyadar youth group where the war is shown as bringing death, abnormality and fear.
In Nyadar the period of post-war recovery is understood to involve coming to terms with the material and emiotional condition of ichan. The end of the war implied a new start, one often alluded to in the vocabulary of words outlined above and one that was like a ‘rcetum to life’. In Nyadar the word ‘life’ was used in the sense of health and an escape from danger. When a person recovered from sickness they would exclaim “E have escaped/lived through sickness” - “ aijar eong kotoma adetf\ In calling the post-war a ‘return to life’ there was a metaphorical comparison being; made between the violence and sickness and danger and the present as healtth and security. In this way the context of the violence, described in this chapter, was marked off as being morally unusual and undesirable. Yet the influence cof the violence - the incapacitation to people’s personal well being as well as tthe destruction of cultural praxis in Teso - was recognised. A ‘return to life’ wais one that came out of much death and suffering and had to cope with that sufferimg.
Nevertheless the post-war period! was seen to involve a return to ‘a way of life’, a state in which people have the ability to align their personal achievements with cultural constructions of what itt is to be a person. The ‘way of life’ that people referred to as desirable and to be emulated in post-war recovery was embodied as
104 the state of affairs that had prevailed in the 1960s, a state of wealth and national opportunity. A post-war ‘return to life’ had seen people able, once more, to express personal effectiveness in the creation of an identity of modem and up to date people. This identity mattered on a personal level between people in the same parish but also as an expression of a position in the wider state of Uganda.
It is important to note, however, in the Teso sense of the word, ‘life’ does not preclude death and suffering. It was made clear again and again by people in Nyadar that hardship and the loss entailed in death were an inevitable part of the circumstances of their life. Concerning death this was an understanding, as in so many other societies (c.f. Bloch & Parry 1982), that death was a vital part of the forward moving reproduction of society. It was also the understanding that reproduction could accommodate and mitigate death. When a young man died of Aids in Nyadar his brother commented “We cry but we don’t mind so much because he has already had children and those children live on.” When a woman delivered a child it was celebrated that “she has brought life” - “aijar aberu”. Concerning suffering, there was undeniable acceptance and recognition that life was ‘hard work’ and that hardship was an inevitable part of the complexity of human existence. In this way the sense of ‘life’ that people in Nyadar talked of when they referred to the post-war situation was one that incorporated all the impact of the violence and destruction. It was about survival but survival into the very real conditions of the meaning of ‘life’.
For people in Nyadar, the ‘return to life’ following the war has involved a break with violence and the resumption of strategies to cope with the loss and devastation of the conflict. The ‘return to life’ has incorporated their renewed wealth, renewed effectiveness and the re-establishment of patterns of cultural praxis that fit with understandings of identity, both regional and personal. In the following chapters I look at five specific aspects involved in this ‘return to life’ in Nyadar. These are processes of recovery in the household, the lives of young people, the regaining of wealth and the use of money in this, the healing of emotional health, and the spiritual dimension to life. In each of these aspects I look at the resources people have used to cope with ‘suffering/poverty’ - ichan ,
105 and to found a new life - aijar. I assess the extent to which these processes evidence socio-cultural conservatism or change.
Reconciliation
Whilst I have singled out five particular aspects of post-war recovery in the following chapters there is another aspect of peace and recovery in Nyadar that will be referred to, though not necessarily elaborated, throughout the text; that of reconciliation. Reconciliation has proved to be an integral part of reconstruction in post conflict societies around the world (Winslow 1997: 24). In Nyadar reconciliation has involved both relations with the Karamojong and relations with former UP A combatants.
In Nyadar, as elsewhere in Teso, the worst of the Karamojong raids were over by 1987. From then on the relationship between the two sides has been marked by co-operation as well as antagonism. Karamojong cattle herders, facing over- grazing in their own lands, started to bring their herds to Teso to graze during the dry season (November to March). There they met with UPA groups encamped in the bush and started trade relationships supplying milk, meat and even guns to rebels in exchange for beer brewed for the rebels by their wives and sisters. Whilst the Iteso population were in the camps, some men gave the Karamojong grazing rights to their land and these exchange relationships have stayed into the post-war period. Men in Teso refer to these relationships as ‘friendships’. The ‘friendships’ are institutionalised with ceremonial gift giving.
‘Friendships’ between Karamojong and Iteso fit the pattern of ‘bond partnership’ common to pastoral societies throughout East Africa. Almagor (1978: 108) has shown how the Dassanetch of Ethiopia instigate bond partners to supplement the needs of a household where cattle herds are, like amongst the Iteso, organised on a household basis. He suggests that bond partnership occurs amongst pastoral groups who depend on fulfilling their needs from a wider range of supportive relations than can be supplied by kinship and affinity. As will be shown in Chapters Three and Four the loss of family herds in Teso has promoted the
106 reliance of young men on relationships beyond their family. The exchange element of friendships with Karamojong has often provided a basis for household reconstruction and reproduction in Nyadar and for the re-circulation of livestock in the area. Both Schlee (1997: 577) and Wolde (1999: 28) working amongst pastoral groups in Ethiopia have suggested that bond partnerships across group boundaries are relationships that act as counter balances to hostilities and conflict between those groups. This was the case in Nyadar at the time of my fieldwork where, since 1987, people have re-defined their relationship with Karamojong through bond partnership or friendship rather than through hostility.
In addition, throughout Teso, such re-definition has corresponded with an emphasis on the Karamojong as ‘uncles’ of the Iteso rather than their enemies. People have used the notion of “dangerous Karamojong” or “Karamojong with tales” to differentiate between the Karamojong on whom they blame the violence from the rest with whom emphasise their historical and linguistic relationship. Allen (1989: 49) has noted similar emphasis of “relatedness” between Madi and Acholi in north Uganda. Whilst in the early eighties there was much hostility and violence between the two groups, Allen subsequently noted a renegotiation of inter-personal reconciliation using the idiom of kaka, ‘relatedness’. He suggests, as can be said for the Iteso, that this is example of the use of a “cultural archive” amongst the Madi for their contemporary concerns.
However the irony of the contemporary ‘friendships’ with Karamojong was well recognised by people in Nyadar. As Teresa Alago, a single mother of five children and well known in Nyadar for her outspoken ideas, told me one day when I visited her home:
“I do not understand those people we call erebole [‘rebels’]. They used to say “Okwe [surprise]! The Karamojong have stolen our cattle, we have to fight the government.” Then they became friends with the Karamojong. They used to say “Okwe\ We must protect our people.” Then they go round disturbing us greatly, stealing our properties. That is why I say that those rebels are very stubborn. Ah! I have no sympathy for them. They should be called thieves not rebels.”
107 Teresa Alago, 50, Nyadar, 21.5.97
Likewise the attitude of those in Nyadar to former combatants who fought in the bush as UPA rebels was highly ambiguous. The conflict saw the defeat of the UPA and brought widespread destruction to Teso. In this sense many people in Nyadar saw the conflict as morally detrimental and undesirable. Yet, at the same time, many still held that the cause for which the UPA fought was justifiable and immensely important. This ambiguity towards the conflict spread into attitudes towards former combatants. On the one hand people criticised the role they had played as agents of death and destruction, especially those who had been involved in looting and interpersonal violence. On the other hand people validated and praised their role as “Teso boys” fighting in the name of threatened interests as an expression of identity and autonomy. This ambiguity given to the place of combatants was expressed in the description ‘stubbom/playful/clever’ - palyono. Former rebels and young combatants, agwayo, were often described as palyono , expressing both the undesirable and the admirable aspects of what they had done.
Wilson (1989) has suggested that in many post conflict societies, traditional rituals of cleansing and reconciliation have been re-employed as a means of re integrating former combatants back into the society. Such rituals address the psycho-social needs of combatants and provide therapeutic direction for the society as a whole. Summerfield, Gillier, and Braken (1995: 1078) argue that it is essential to assess such rituals as part of community capacities for reconstruction and recovery. In Chapter Seven I assess the role of cosmology and religion in processes of reconstruction in Nyadar and the religious conversion and re integration of former combatants. There is, however, another dimension of the re integration of combatants; the day to day encounters they had with members of the community against whom they have committed atrocities.
In Nyadar, such relations were highly problematic. They were at the root of many hostilities between relatives and between neighbours. People in Nyadar tended to avoid former combatants, arguing that if they did not see them they would not be reminded of what they had suffered at their hands. Former combatants, in turn,
108 were rarely seen in Oditel and often spoke of the gossip and hostility they would be subject to if they left their homes. This prediction was borne out in practice. Sometimes, whilst sitting in Oditel trading centre, I would hear that a former rebel leader was passing through. People would run into shops, gossiping and whispering, recounting his former history. One of the leading UPA figures in the Nyadar vicinity told me that he had only visited Oditel a couple of times since the end of the conflict and stayed in his locality where many others had also been UPA supporters.
Relations between civilians and former combatants in Nyadar point to a fraught, open ended and not necessarily ‘communal’ process of reconciliation. The same must be said of relations with the Karamojong. In the years since the end of the UPA insurgency, Nyadar like other areas of Teso has seen pockets of instability arising from incomplete processes of peace and reconciliation. Karamojong raiding continues. In 1997 raiding along the border was prevalent. In the worst case thirty cattle was abducted from a home in Kapelebyong sub-county. Groups of Karamojong men laden with guns started to walk through Oditel. In the same year armed looting took place in the north of Teso. A vehicle was ambushed on the northern road to Oditel and three passengers killed. One night, a few weeks later, a gang of four men armed with guns and pangas was spotted in Oditel. Young men immediately formed a vigilante group arming themselves with spears and patrolled the camp every night. A week later an emergency meeting was called by the LC3 chairman to which the entire population of the camp attended. It was thought that the unknown ‘rebels’ were army deserters from the north. The camp was placed under curfew which was adhered to very strictly so that by 7:30pm for about three weeks everyone was inside their homes. From the west Kony rebels made looting incursions into Teso. In November 1997 the county of Kapelebyong was made a militarised zone. Five hundred ‘Special Force’ NRA troops were encamped in barracks at two trading centres, one south of Oditel and one seven kilometres north. There were still there when I left in March 1998 and had provided a substantial boost to the local trading and beer brewing economy.
109 *Kasozi (1994), Wiebe & Dodge (1987), Mutibura (1992), Twaddle (1989), Hansen & Twaddle (1995) for causes and events of political violence in Uganda. A more inclusive history of post colonial Uganda is given in Appendix 1. 2This followed on from the high privilege accorded to the Buganda under the colonial government. Not only had the British supported the Bugandan colonisation of neighbouring lands and ratified that land into the borders of present day Uganda but they had also invested heavily in education and economic systems for the Buganda and other Bantu. In contrast those from northern Luo, Sudanic and Paranilotic groups were heavily recruited into the Ugandan army and police force including Idi Amin from the Madi (Sudanic) people. On independence the constitution granted federal status and a separate parliament to the kingdom of Buganda within Uganda. These interests were supported by the Kabaka Yekka (KY) party, which had a majority Buganda membership. 3 Obote’s second term of office is known in Uganda as ‘Obote II’. 4Members of the NRA (mostly from the south of Uganda) had formed part of the UNLA but later separated into a new fighting force in opposition to Obote. 5 For example Stephen Ariko; Attorney General until 1971, James Okodou, Minister of Intelligence until 1971 (O Connor 1988: 90). 6The best documented of these is Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit Movement (Allen 1989, Behrend 1999). 7Some of these rebel factions are still in action, most potently Joseph Kony’s Lords Resistance Army (LRA) a group which descends from the Holy Sprit Movement. *New Vision June 27th 1989, New Vision May 12th 1989. 9The most serious of this catalogue of atrocities was on 11th July 1989. NRA soldiers detained 279 people for screening to identify UPA rebels and rebel supporters. Those detained were locked into a railway carriage at an abandoned station for two days. 69 people suffocated to death and 7 more were shot. The largest execution conducted by the NRA was in August 1989 when 100 people were executed in Soroti town following a rebel ambush on an NRA patrol (Amnesty International 1992: 23). 10The location of these settlement camps in the north of Teso is shown in the map, Plate 2, page 21. nTeso Relief Committee Report 1990. This is a Crude Mortality Rate (CMR) given as the number of people dying per 10 000 people. A ‘normal’ CMR is 0.5, NGOs calculate a ‘dire situation’ as one in which there is a CMR of 2-3. The CMR in Goma in 1994 was 60, the CMR in Zaire in 1997 was 300. 12The army presence in Teso was again sizably reduced in April 1994 when many soldiers joined the RPF invasion of Rwanda. 13 This is the first historical incidence of such a figure for the Iteso. 14Mark Leopold (1999) ‘Tradition and Change in West Nile’ paper presented workshop to celebrate the publication of ‘ Developing Uganda Institute of Commonwealth Studies and personnel communication. 15There was widespread famine throughout Teso in 1994 after much of the cassava staple had been destroyed by disease. Famine occurred again in 1997 with the effects of El Nino. 16 See Plate 4. 17 The Ateso word for ‘tradition’ is enono, which refers to old practices, customs or cultures. 18 See Appendix 1 for fuller discussion of the pre-colonial history of Teso. The significance of these migrations in causing the high cultural value place both on individual households and on young people in Iteso society is discussed in Chapters Three and Four respectively. 19 The history of colonisation of Teso is given greater attention in Appendix 1. 20 The first schools in Teso were founded near Kumi in 1906 where both Anglican Church Missionary Society (CMS) and Catholic missions were inaugurated. In 1914 the administrative headquarters of the Teso District were moved from Kumi north to Soroti. Further schools and missions were established in Soroti and the infrastructure of education and churches expanded over the area. As early as 1911 there were 35 Itesot teachers in the four major district schools. By 1930 there was a Catholic station every 20 miles throughout Teso and a CMS church in every village (Vincent 1982: 140). 21 Report o f the Commission o f Inquiry into the Management of the Teso District March 1937. Government Printer. 22 Commission o f Inquiry into the Cotton Industry of Uganda 1929.
110 23In Soroti town there are the bombed remains of petrol stations, a cinema, tennis courts and a swimming pool. Teso College, considered the second best school in Uganda in the 1950s and 1960s, has recently been rehabilitated after having been bombed in the late eighties. Whilst there are strong debates amongst young people in Teso about the negative impact of colonialism, the materiality of that change is very much valued and strong debates voice the feeling that the later day conflict in Teso has retarded a trajectory of development. * 24 See Appendix 1 for a more detailed history of Nyadar parish. 25There are many stories told about the origin of the name Oditel. In one Oditel comes from the word oditelel, ‘the shaking of buttocks’, a word used to describe the dance often performed at beer drinking parties for which Oditel trading center was renowned. Another states that Oditel stems from the English word ‘detail’. Many of the early occupants Nyadar had been soldiers in WW2, an employment which furnished them with the financial resources to accomplish the move north and to build houses in the trading center. Oditel refers to the ‘detail’ of soldiers found drinking in the center. 26This conceptual division corresponds well with the system of warring organisation amongst the Karamojong. Ocan (1994: 140) states that much of the raiding was headed by Karamojong warlords who gained most of the raided cattle and organised the exchange of cattle for guns across the Sudanese border. There seems to have been an alliance between these warlords and members of the Turkana. Beyond these warlords and their armies other Karamojong were not involved in the raiding and have gained little from it. 27The post still stood in Oditel until December 1997 and was frequently pointed out as a reminder of the terror of past days. Many, both rebels and NRA, had been slaughtered there. In December 1997 it was removed as part of a programme to rebuild the road through Oditel. 280ne man told of a trip he had been able to make to Soroti after a period of several months of instability in north Teso. When he arrived in the town his family there were amazed to see him and told him that they had heard that no one was left alive in Kapelebyong. The one daily pick to and from Oditel to Soroti was ambushed three times after these years of violence. 29Whilst all the information in this passage might read as a clear and logical event history it should be pointed out that I learnt it in the most piecemeal fashion, through snatched references, recollections and conversations. It was never told to me in this form. Indeed I think that it would be unimaginable to people in Nyadar to do so. Even by the end of eighteen months fieldwork it did not stand as a clear and delineated history in my own mind. It is only having returned from the field and sifted through field notes, now divorced from time and place, that I can present it in this way. However the way that it is written here must not belie the fact that it arose in fieldwork through fragmented, disparate and emotionally charged conversations, from voices suffused with pain. These were events difficult to articulate and equally difficult to hear. The Father has earned the nickname Ekinai meaning ‘one who always tells the truth’. 31 During the conflict the expression ‘Digging rice’ was used as a euphemism for being killed in a swampy area. See Chapter Six. 32Here ‘southern’ refers to the Bantu groups of people in Uganda and ‘northern’ to the Sudanic, Luo and Nilo-Hamitic peoples. Illusion to the ‘north-south’ divide in Uganda has long been part of political consciousness in Uganda history. See Appendix 1. People in Nyadar expressed their politico-economic marginalisation in terms of distance from Kampala. Even though most imported goods in Uganda come from the eastern border and into Tororo and Mbale which are relatively close to Teso, in people’s imagination the centre of trade is Kampala. In Nyadar only a handful of people had ever been as far as Mbale let alone Kampala. Only one of the shopkeepers had ever been to Mbale. The differing price of goods was given as indicator of both political and economic marginalisation. This is compounded in Nyadar which is in one of the most remote areas of Teso. So for example the price of a Coca Cola in Nyadar was 600/=, in Soroti 500/= and in Kampala 350/=. Yet these price differentials were also valued as the basis for trade and profit in Nyadar, as will be discussed in Chapter Five. 34This preoccupation with a place in the nation was reflected also in the concerns with a cultural leader for Teso. 35This was the year of El Nino. In the dry season of 1996/7 many Karamojong brought their herds through Nyadar for grazing and ‘friendships’ proliferated. In 1997 the rains failed and there was widespread drought until September 1997 when unexpected rains fell allowing people to plant a late crop. With rain in Karamoja Karamojong did not bring their herds through Nyadar. Fewer ‘friendships’ developed and raiding was more prevalent.
111 112 Plate 4: RETURN FROM HELL.
m m
Rt Rev. Geresom Illukor, Anglican Bishop of Teso Province. Speaking at the conference ‘Teso Steps Forward with Peace: the challenges of socio-economic recovery in a post-conflict area’, Jan 1996. 11 if Plate 5: AERIAL VIEWS OF NYADAR
A ‘home’ in Nyadar surrounded by gardens of cassava.
Aerial view of Oditel camp
n r 116 Plate 6: REBUILDING HOUSES AFTER THE WAR Women collect grass and thatch rooves, men build the walls.
117 U9 Chapter Three RECOVERY IN THE HOME
THE PLACE OF THE ‘HOME’ IN CULTURAL ‘LIFE’
The ‘home’ - oree, is a pivotal focus of ‘life’ in Nyadar. The importance of the home was clearly shown to me early on in my fieldwork whilst living with the Adongu family in Oditel. William, the father of the home, had been away in Kampala for two weeks and returned just before Christmas. On stepping from the pick-up truck and entering the home compound he gathered the youngest children around him and announced to the family, “Well there is certainly life there [in Kampala] but I said to myself “No. It is time to go home.” You know what they say, “East, West home is best.” A few weeks later I held a group discussion in one of the villages in Nyadar on the subject of the home. Acero Jeseca, a recently married woman of 21 years old, described the importance of the home:
“A home is where you really are someone. You see those men who sit at home with their wife and children with their granaries; they are very proud, they feel very rich. For me I will feel good when visitors come to my home and I have food for them, it will make me feel very good when I can serve them with food and if the children have nice manners and greet them. Then the visitor will say “Eh! Your home is very beautiful. You did well to marry here”.”
Acero Jeseca, 21, Oditel, 17.5.97
119 For the Iteso the home is a key locus of personal identity and effectiveness, of an individual’s ‘life’. The home is also central to the social production and reproduction that constitutes a ‘way of life’ in Teso. In this chapter I consider the strategies and resources that people in Nyadar have used for processes of recovery in their homes. Processes of post-war recovery in their homes are central to the post-war ‘return to life’ of people in Nyadar. I consider whether these processes of post-war recovery located in the home evidence continuity or change in cultural praxis.
The definition of a ‘home’ - oree, as used by people in Nyadar has two senses. First it is a phenomenological concept, a locus of meaning informed by ideologies of family and affection, of belonging, and the connection between past, present and future. The commitment to oree in this sense in Nyadar is very deep indeed. ‘Home’ is the place of access and resources, of land, intertwined with deeply emotional relationships of birth, marriage and death. In this way, as Werbner (1991: 1) has described for the Bango people of Botswana ‘home’ is past orientated; it is the nexus of a history of self. It is, at the same time, present orientated as a “world of experience” through relations with others. And ‘home’ is also future orientated; family relations and the presence of children and young people amongst the members of a household are reminder and incentive that the home, that ‘world of experience’, will continue in future. It will be developed and lived in and in so doing will perpetuate the identity of those who have lived there in the past. The desire for children to carry forward the life of the home is utmost in the minds of people in Nyadar.
Second, the phenomenological concept of the ‘home’ has socio-structural reference. At the broadest level ‘home’ refers to all the land owned by the members of one patrilineal lineage - ateker.1 In Nyadar lineages are shallow and stem from the men who originally settled on the land in the 1930s. The male descendants of these settlers, members of one shallow lineage, live on the land claimed by their forefathers. Members of a lineage live on this land in separate and dispersed households, households that consist of members of an immediate family
120 - ekel (pi. ikelia). In principle households are formed around a single conjugal couple and their children, with young men forming new households on marriage following a principle of system of patrilocal residence. In practice the actual composition of households in Nyadar parish is various, not only between households but also in one household in time. Whilst the most common permutation of membership was based around a single conjugal couple and their children, there were many other formations.3 Details of household composition in the sample village Otela at the time of fieldwork are given in Appendix Three.4 As will be discussed later, the variety of household composition has increased since the conflict. On the narrowest level the ‘home’ refers to such households of family members and thus to the basic unit of production, reproduction, consumption and socialization (Moore 1988: 54). This unit has a geographical boundedness; family members of a household share the same compound, the cleared space amongst fields and the bush where houses are built.5
Processes of recovery and socio-cultural transformation in the home
My concern in this chapter is to document how people in Nyadar have initiated a ‘return to life’ within their homes. This involves the consideration of two essential social processes. First, I consider how people in the parish have rejuvenated the economic activity, security and consumption of their households since the end of the conflict. This leads me to consider the re-start and organisation of agriculture and trade. Second, I consider how people in Nyadar have re-connected to processes of marriage and reproduction; to the ‘development cycle of domestic groups’. In Nyadar these are both processes that re-start from a wartime situation of impoverishment and loss. But they are more than material and socio-structural processes. Household based production and reproduction in Nyadar take places under the ideological aegis of ‘home’; to restart and continue the connections between the strands of past, present and future relationships between members of that particular family.
121 My concern in assessing these processes of household reconstruction is to draw out patterns of consistency and change in cultural praxis in the post-war period. Here I draw upon the perceptions of change held by people in Nyadar themselves as well as looking at distinct historical shifts evident in a comparison between the ethnographic data I collected in Nyadar (particularly from the sample village Otela) and ethnographic data collected in Teso prior to 1980.
All previous ethnographic data for the Iteso stresses the importance of the household in cultural life over and above the role of the clan or lineage (Wright 1942: 63; Vincent 1968: 108). The high value placed on individual family households within a shallow lineage has historical foundations. It stems from the long history of migration into and throughout Teso. These migrations were conducted by young men who left their natal homes and moved to colonise new land (Lawrence 1957: 69; Nagashima 1998: 244). There was a constant reformation of members of different lineages into new ‘localities’ - etem (Wright 1942: 65. See Appendix One). This history explains the high value placed in the present on independent families - ikelia, within a shallow lineage or locality due to the historical impermanence and transitory nature of both the wider clan/lineage - ateker, affiliation (Karp 1978: 16; Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 19). The continual fragmentation of ateker also mitigated against the solidarity created by reference to a common ancestor or to a common pool of property. Lawrence (1957: 66) noted a state of affairs that pertains today; “clans appear to have little significance regarding property. Cattle are owned on an individual basis and there is no evidence that a clan basis was ever the rule.” During my fieldwork it was evident that for people in Nyadar commitment to a household always outweighed the commitment to a lineage - ateker.
Prior to the war, the dynamics of households in Teso were predicated upon family cattle herds owned by a male household head. The place of family herds in Iteso socio-cultural home life was augmented throughout the C20th by an economy based upon cotton cash cropping and cattle trade (this is discussed further in Chapter Five). Indeed, Anthony & Uchendu (1978: 18) suggest that the transition
122 from a pastoral economy to one based on cattle and cotton under colonialism also reduced the authority of the ‘extended family’, again contributing to the place of the individual household as the most important social unit in Teso in systems of production and reproduction. Household-based agriculture was consolidated by the impact of cotton growing in Teso for the provision of ox-ploughs and sale of harvest was conducted at household level by British administrators who saw the profits from cotton growing as forming the basis of the taxation system (Vincent 1982: 168). In turn families tended to feed profits from cotton back into the purchase of cattle for family herds (Anthony & Uchendu 1978: 10). These herds incorporated oxen for agricultural production and bullocks for trade. They also included cattle for marriage. For the Iteso the only recognised formal marriage relationship is one that has been marked by the transfer of bridewealth cattle from the father of the groom to the father of the bride.6 Unlike other pastoral societies where bridewealth is transferred from a wife-taking to a wife-giving lineage, in Teso bridewealth transactions were conducted at the household level; on marriage a son relied upon cattle from his father’s herd alone for bridewealth (Lawrence 1957: 202). These cattle were transferred to the natal household of the bride.
Whilst production and reproduction in Teso focused on the home and the family herd, nevertheless the lineage did play some role in pre-war cultural life. Male relations were mobilised on the first day of mourning - aipudono , for a lineage member. Lineage members discussed the terms of inheritance including the inheritance of widows of the deceased in a system of levirate marriage (Lawrence 1957: 230) as well as the inheritance of land (see below). On the marriage of a lineage member the same group gathered to discuss the bridewealth to be demanded by a father for his daughter and accompanied a young man to the home of his potential in-laws for bridewealth negotiations. While lineage members were not expected to contribute to a young man’s bridewealth unless he was their son, they might often assist him in the name of affection or patronage. Similarly lineage members might co-ordinate herding duties together although this was done as often with unrelated neighbours as with kin.
123 A final cultural pattern, which emerges from the pre-war ethnography of the Iteso is the rural nature of the area. In analysis of surveys of a village in south Teso conducted in 1937 and again in 1953 Wilson and Watson (1954: 186) note that the rural population of the village had increased in the intervening years due to immigration in the area to rural rather than urban locations. The note the reliance of all households on cotton as a cash crop; in 1937 32.9% of all household land was under cotton, in 1953 the figure was 28.2% (ibid: 190). And they note the low percentage of the population involved in employment other than agriculture. In 1937 only 1.25 % of the population earned a livelihood other than by agriculture, in 1953 only 3.4%.
Having established trends in the ethnography of the Iteso prior to 1980, I move now to assess processes of recovery at the level of the ‘home’ and to indicate patterns of cultural change within them.
RESETTLEMENT
Throughout Teso when the fighting was subsiding families who had been internally displaced during the war into refugee settlements and into the army camps took the decision to move back to their deserted land. For the majority of the population in Nyadar, as for example Adongu and Lucy described in Chapter Two, this involved the movement out of Oditel camp back to the villages of Nyadar. Data, given in Table 3.1, from the household survey conducted in Otela village illustrates the trends of movement back to village homes.
124 Table 3.1 Movement of households back to Otela from Oditel:
Year rebuilt------homes in Otela1------Number of households 1991 2 1992 1 1993 7 1994 11 1995 9 1996 7 1997 2 1998 1 Entire household still living in Oditel and yet to rebuild 3 Entire household still living in other parts of Uganda and yet to 3 rebuild Household dispersed during war 2 Household founded since end of the war 14 Total8 62
These figures indicate that the process of re-settlement was slow in starting and that it was not until a few years after the end of the conflict that the majority of people moved back. People in Nyadar put this hesitation down to a sense of insecurity. They had worried, they said, about returning to isolated village homes out of the confines of the camps at a time when UPA rebels still lived in small camps in the bush.
Those who re-settled in the village earliest were households with rebel connections. Rebels who had avoided arrest and who had gone through no official surrender took their families back to the villages. With sons or husbands in the bush, the household had anyway been less rooted in the camp and was guaranteed immunity from rebel looting and attacks. Their early move from the camp was also attributed to an avoidance of the ill feeling held by much of the population towards them and their avoidance of the families that they had directly attacked.
From these initial moves, more and more people moved back without incident and confidence increasingly grew. The growing sense of security of life in the village
125 was palpable during my fieldwork. Whilst in 1996 mothers warned their children not to go out into the bush at night for fear of meeting rebels on the paths and people specifically avoided wearing white at night for fear of being seen, by the end of my fieldwork in 1998, mothers were warning children not to wander around the villages at night because of the danger of snakes. Yet fears about the security of villages did prevail, when Karamojong raiding resurfaced late in 1997 and the area became a militarised zone people once again talked of the danger and isolation of the village as compared to the congregation of Oditel.
Those who resettled latest to the village (those who returned from 1996 to 1998) or who did not return at all included those who held a formal home in Oditel. These families had permanent (iron roofed, brick) buildings in the camp on plots that had been officially bought before the war years, buildings that formerly held the family shop or business. Sons inherited such houses from their fathers and widows lived in those constructed by their former husbands. During the years of encampment their families had lived in these buildings rather than the hastily built huts that formed the majority of the camp. All three households from Otela village who still remained in Oditel at the time of my fieldwork fell into this category. One was an old couple with their grandchild who stated that they did not have the resources or strength to rebuild a home in the village. The husband died during 1997 and his widow remained in Oditel. The two others were widow-headed households who remained with their children in the permanent houses of their former husbands.
Alternatively the households who resettled in the village later were those who had fled further afield during the war, settling in Soroti or south Teso. Their return to the village was in two stages, firstly to Oditel and then to the village. Or they were people who had been particularly severely attacked by rebels during the war and expressed a reluctance to return to the village amongst whose population they counted some as enemies. In addition those who returned later often had an educated member of the household who had found employment elsewhere (as teachers, traders or business people), keeping them back from re-settlement. The
126 three households who were living in other parts of Uganda and who had yet to rebuild in this village fell into this category.
Four of the households in Otela had family members still living in Oditel. In one case a widower, father of those resident in the village, who had decided that he was too old and weak to make the move back. In two others a son had set up a shop in the camp and in another a son had stayed to keep guard over the crops still stored in Oditel.
The Motivation to re-settle
The incentives cited to move out of camps and to re-settle in villages were numerous. First, people stated that it made agricultural labour far easier when the household could live in the midst of their land rather than in the camp, which would involve up to a twelve kilometer walk every working morning to the fields. Second, they explained that there was ample land to rear and graze livestock in the villages and the space to build kraals for cattle. In the camp livestock (chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, ducks) had been kept in cramped conditions and infectious, usually fatal, diseases easily spread between the animals of different households. Likewise, third, people favoured village conditions for their own health. The camp was conceptualised as a place of sickness and death.9 People particularly complained of the concentration of sewage in the camp.
Fourth, people expressed a preference for the sociality that existed when households were dispersed in villages rather than crowded together in a seemingly false formation of a community in the camp. There was a reliance on distance between households not only for privacy but also for maintaining the balance of inter-personal relationships. For example it was easier for those in dispute to avoid each other in the villages. People also explained that drunkenness was less likely to lead to violent out bursts. For in the village people sat and drank with their kin and friends. In the camp the proximity of other drinking circles often resulted in fights. Again Oditel was conceptualised as a place of tension and violence.10 In his
127 study of Cypriot refugees Loizos (1981: 172) has described similar interpersonal tensions felt by those who fled and settled into crowded conditions. Over time the refugees regrouped to settle next to close relatives. Later, whilst still refugees, they separated, feeling the tensions of both overcrowding and the heightened demands of kinship under strained conditions. Likewise people in Nyadar felt that village life provided the ‘normal’ topography of social life with women rooted in the home and men making ‘safaris’ out for trade, visiting and business rather than everyone being constrained together in the camp (see Plate 5). They expressed a keen motivation to return to this state of life.
Fifth, was a concern that people lay claim to their land before others came to settle there. Already in the Otela a Karamojong man had built a house on someone else’s land and a land dispute had ensued. There was a keenness to settle, and mark out the boundaries between plots with sisal plants again to re-affirm claims
Last and most significant was the ideological draw to go ‘home’. To return to village land was return to a place of identity and belonging. It was the most obvious step towards re-establishing the way of life that had existed in times of stability and for generations past. For men to go ‘home’ was to return to the land where they had been bom and grown up, where their fathers and grandfathers were buried and where they had claim to land and resources amongst their kin. For women, to go home was the chance to provide for a family with ready access to land. If bridewealth had been paid widows had undisputed access to the land of their former husbands. To go ‘home’ was to return to a perceived normality of social and working life.
Re-building
It was a common pattern in Teso that men commonly led the move out of the camp and back to respective homes. Like other internally displaced populations in Uganda the family tended to return in stages (Kabera & Muyanja 1994: 99). This corresponded with the strict division of labour between men and women in
128 building houses; men were involved in the early stages of building, women in later ones (see Plate 6). The proximity of the camp however, meant that families usually retained their base there whilst working to rebuild the home though by the time of the harvest the family was installed in the new houses so that they could store and guard the harvest crops. One significant difference between the re-built homes and the previous, pre-war, ones was the lack of granaries. After years of raiding and looting people in Nyadar prefer to keep their crops stored in sacks inside the houses rather than in the more vulnerable granaries. In addition the construction of granaries was done by experts who required payment. Granary construction was a time consuming and expensive process and not considered a priority in the early stages of rebuilding.
Many families retained their houses in the camp for several years, especially if they were storing sacks of crops there that were too heavy to transport to the village. Women used the house on market days and during the dry season when they came to sell beer, saving a late night return to the village. Houses in the camp were retained until they either fell down or a tenant was found who would rent the house from the person who had originally built it.11
Female headed households who lacked the manpower for many of the building jobs had three options. They either remained in the camp. Or they hired labour to build the houses for them or they relied on male kin, especially if they were widows who had been taken on as a wife by their husbands’ brother.
By the time of my fieldwork, some families had been living in their village homes for up to six years and the development cycle of homes was increasingly established. This included the practice of shifting the site of a home every six to ten years. The families who had re-settled in the villages earliest were beginning to rebuild new houses at a different location on their land. In addition, homes were
• 10 expanding and splitting as sons grew, built their own houses, and married. Other households were replacing the first houses with stronger. structures. Mud brick houses with thatched roofs were increasingly common. These were more
129 expensive to build, since people usually hired experts to construct them and purchased better building materials, but they were longer lasting. No family had however yet reached the extent of building a permanent (iron roofed, cement floored) house in the village.
Oditel Camp
There had been 2 500 households resident in Oditel during the period of encampment. By 1997 there were only 132 remaining. The majority of families had returned to their villages and continued to do so. Oditel was however, still referred to as ‘the camp’ by members of Nyadar and the composition was different from the pre-1980 population of 16 households. During the 1980s Oditel had grown as more and more people sought refuge there from Karamojong raiding. The net result, through these impermanent settlements and re-settlements, was that Oditel was, after the war, a far larger collection of people than it had been twenty years previously.
In his research in Bugerere, central Uganda, Robertson (1968: 31) found the populations of trading centres to be a collection of the socially unusual. Likewise with the population of Oditel - they were people who fell outside the norms of the majority who had returned to the villages. The reasons given by household heads for their continued stay in the camp, as opposed to returning to their villages, are classed in Table 3: 2.
Those who lived in Oditel did so for three major reasons. There were those who had access to greater economic opportunity through employment, business and trade. The centralisation of schools, the market and the Catholic Mission in Oditel drew many to remain in the camp whilst still investing in agriculture on their home lands. The economic regeneration of Oditel since the conflict had been substantial. This was based on the trade of agricultural products from the villages, of the sale of beer and gin brewed by women and on the sale of consumer goods
130 brought into Oditel by shopkeepers of which there were fifteen at the time of my fieldwork. This trade is discussed below.
Second, there were those who retained claims to the permanent houses built before the war when Oditel had been a small trading centre. Third, there were those who held a contested kinship status thus barring immediate access to land in the village. Disputes between family members accounted for a large number of people in Oditel failing to return home. Elderly single men especially lacked the family structure that would insure a successful rebuilding of life in the village.
There were a high proportion of female headed households in Oditel. These were single women with children who relied upon the brewing opportunities in the camp to secure their financial needs. Often these women were young and were those who had had relationships with soldiers in the army barracks. Turshen (1998: 15) suggests that during the conflict many women in Teso fled their villages into camps to seek the securities afforded by the presence of army barracks and were offered protection through their relationships with soldiers. However the traumatic nature of these relationships for women in Nyadar is clearly given in a testimony in Chapter Six (c.f. WILDAF 1994: 18). After the conflict many of such women in Oditel have been classed as ‘prostitutes’ and alienated from social life in the villages. They have set up independent households with their children in the camp rather than return as an unmarried mother to their parents’ home. These women rent land adjacent to the camp or borrow it from friends. The camp was a forum for widowed, single and divorced women to negotiate households based on their own resources outside the authority of men. Sometimes this was by choice and sometimes by necessity. The rise of female headed households in Nyadar is discussed below.
The character of Oditel camp had changed after the war. It had once been the site of enforced settlement, where all the population had encountered imposed poverty and restriction. After a period of peace and re-settlement the composition altered with the eclectic mixture of those who remained. In this way the very huts built by
131 Table 3.2 Reasons cited by Household Heads in Oditel for staying in the camp, rather than returning to the village:
Reason Given for staying in Camp N um ber of Households Male Headed Single man (divorcee or widower) who has bad relationship with sons; they have refused for him to go back to the Households village and have denied him access to land there. Greater economic opportunity in the camp 14 Shop keeper; renting property 6 Shop keeper; built own shop since the war 9 Teacher 7 Economic Opportunity from market/meat 13 Use house in camp for market days only 5 Young couple. Bad relationship with parents of boy; lack of access to land in the village. 4 LC Official 3 Church Leader 3 Member of Ebukio lineage1 3 Feel too old to move back 3 Pre-war House in Oditel 6 Total 73 Female Headed War Widow: contested access to land in former husband’s village and greater economic opportunity in camp 14 War Widow: living in husband’s pre-war house in Oditel 4 Widow: contested access to land in former husband’s village and greater economic opportunity in camp 8 Widow : living in husband’s pre-war house in Oditel 4 Divorced woman 5 One wife of polygamous marriage 2 Unmarried woman: in employment 2 Unmarried woman using economic opportunity of the camp. 12 Total 49 Rented by Students 10 Total 132
1 This lineage had had land just adjacent to the camp. They moved into the camp in 1985 in response to Karamojong raiding and have since re-built their homes on the western edge of the camp. an internally displaced population became home for a section of the society for whom the post-war recovery did not involve a removal back to their home villages. Some, for reasons of disputed kinship, had fallen outside the process of recovery, which for the majority of the population consisted of the resettlement of households in the villages. Others had benefited too greatly from the economic opportunities offered by a centralised gathering of peoples to return to the villages.
Since the war Oditel has been re-created as a center of social relations in Nyadar. Those who had homes in villages near to the camp would make daily trips there. Women came to collect drinking water from the borehole, men to visit friends, children sent to buy household necessities. Even those further away would come to the camp at least once a week. The twice-weekly market, presence of fifteen shops and abundance of beer ensured that Oditel acted as a pivot of socio economic happenings; much of the economic resurgence in Nyadar after the war centered on Oditel. People also came to the camp with the specific intention of meeting other people and exchanging news. Oditel was the pivot of community knowledge and communication.
In effect the centrality of Oditel in socio-economic relations in Nyadar marks a new topography of social life. This was a new topography from that during the conflict period when all civilians had been in close confine in a camp with restricted access. In the present the people of Nyadar use Oditel of their own volition and with open access. It was also, however, a different topography from prior to the conflict. With a lack of herds, rooting men into daily activities of cattle keeping and on their village lands, they centered on Oditel. This shift in topography was noticeable in people’s conversations. Whereas the wealth of the years prior to the conflict was referred to by focusing on the large numbers of cattle in the pre-war period, the marker of wealth in the present was often the state of Oditel itself. Omedel Levi was a particular friend of mine. He and his family had moved out of Oditel and back to their village in 1994. One day I biked into his home where he lived with his parents and new wife, to find him putting on his
133 smartest clothes. This was because he was off to ‘town’, to Oditel. He laughingly explained:
“Oditel is like our town. Can’t you notice that when men go to Oditel they will bathe and change their clothes as though they were visiting Soroti. They become all smart and you hear them saying “I am going to town” when they are just going to Oditel. But Oditel is a good place. I think you yourself can see what a good place it has become. It is very forward compared to life in the village. When you go to Oditel you see people really enjoying life.”
Omedel Levi, 18, Nyadar, 23.6.97
In addition Oditel remained as a resource for times of insecurity. During the famine months of 1997 there was a large influx of people into the camp, re-using old houses or renting from residents. People came from far afield seeking the employment opportunities that might be offered in the camp. They looked to be hired as labourers or to make use of the larger market for beer in Oditel. Again in late 1997 when Karamojong raiding resumed along the border, a collection of families fled to Oditel on hearing rumours that the Kajong were approaching their homes. They stayed for a night and returned the next morning. People construed Oditel, with its close collection of homes and buildings, as offering more safety and potential than the isolation of villages.
ECONOMIC REGENERATION OF THE HOME
As well as processes of re-settlement in Nyadar, the period 1991 to the time of my fieldwork has been marked by the economic re-generation of households; by processes of material and financial improvement after a time of widespread poverty. I consider some of the foundations upon which such economic re generation has been based as well as how it has been organised.
134 In economic terms it is difficult to draw a line between the end of the war and the recovery period. For economic activity including trade continued, albeit sporadically, throughout the worst of the conflict and subsequent times of famine crisis in 1994 and 1997 took people to new conditions of deprivation. Throughout the conflict, however, people were gathered into camps and unable to practice agriculture. The economic base of the culture was thus seriously undermined. In addition the frequent ambushes on transport vehicles meant that Teso was increasingly isolated from the economic networks of the rest of Uganda. Pottier and Orone (1994: 11) state with the loss of bulls for ploughing, the cassava mosaic disease, the end of cotton growing and collapse of food markets, the conflict in Teso marked the collapse of the food production base in Teso. Trade in remote and inaccessible areas such as Nyadar was further handicapped in trade by poor roads, inadequate transport and the vulnerability of vehicles to ambush. Neither could food crops be exported out of an area nor consumer goods brought in. Members of the population avoided markets throughout Teso for communal places were often the sites of armed attacks. Thus 1991, when people were able to have unrestricted access to their homelands, and were then able to resume agriculture and trade, marks a substantive break.
1991 also marks a watershed if one considers, as people in Nyadar themselves do, that the economic regeneration of ‘homes’ is not about the regeneration of subsistence but a process that goes hand in hand with understandings of ‘life’ aijar. For people in Nyadar ‘normal’ economic activity is an ability to fund ‘life’, this is both in the sense of a ‘way of life’ involving understandings of social production and reproduction and ‘life’ as the enjoyment and emotion of being able to consume and to have personal economic effectiveness, both of which constitute notions of personhood in Teso.13 The economic re-generation of homes in Nyadar is thus about more than the regeneration of subsistence, it is about the re generation of what people in Nyadar call ‘wealth’ or ‘riches’ - ebaritas. Ebaritas is not just a material concept, it is a phenomenological one also, essential to the funding o f ‘life’.
135 Since the conflict there has been a major shift in the foundations of ebaritas in Nyadar. Prior to the war cattle represented the highest expression of wealth. Family herds were the ‘wealth’ of a household. Cattle funded social reproduction through bridewealth exchanges and production through the role of ox ploughs. The number of cattle a man had was a primary indicator and primary store of ‘wealth’. Those who became rich from trade became rich through cattle trading. Of the sixteen permanent buildings in Oditel prior to the time of conflict, seven were built by Itesot cattle traders and four by local chiefs. All these men had the largest numbers of herds in the area, their ability to build permanent buildings in Oditel, a sign of ‘really having life’, stemmed from this wealth.14 In the post conflict period such herds have been lost, instead ‘life’ and the acquisition of ‘wealth’ upon which it depends is essentially a monetarised process. In Chapter Five I explore further this shift in ‘wealth’ from cattle to money. Here I look at the economic processes of acquisition of money.
Agriculture
Throughout Teso land and agricultural practice form the basis of community life and have provided security in times of upheaval. Vincent (1968: 98) observed that, in her fieldwork parish of Gondo, it was ownership of land and agricultural practice that formed the basis of cultural homogeneity despite the heterogeneity of ethnic back ground and social position. The importance of agriculture in Iteso life has deepened during the years of insecurity. Throughout Uganda the decades of political instability concomitant degradation of economic security have seen the rural population throughout the country deepened its reliance on the agrarian base as a source of subsistence and income.15 With this, there has been a shift away from the growing of cash crops to a reliance on food crops.16 This is a situation that pertains throughout Teso today (Edaku 1995: 67). Since the end of the conflict households in Nyadar have unilaterally relied on agriculture. People in the parish stated that their greatest resource in economic regeneration has been the land itself. As Odit Michael, owner of one of the largest amounts of land in Nyadar parish, remarked:
136 “We have suffered terribly it is true. Can you imagine what it is like for us the Iteso to lose our cattle? They took our cattle but at least they didn’t take our land. That was the worst of the time of the camp thinking that they were taking our land. I tell you, if they had taken our land there would still be fighting in Teso.”
Odit Michael, 50, Nyadar, 17.8.97
Nevertheless the agriculture practiced in Nyadar has changed. People have shifted from a concentration on cash crops to food crops. Whereas in 1953 Watson and Wilson (1957: 190) found 28.2% of land devoted to cotton, in Otela in 1997 less than 1% of land was given to cotton growing. Instead people in Otela, as throughout Nyadar and Teso, have relied upon food products not only for the means of basic subsistence but as resources for trade. Since the war the regeneration of household economies and wealth has relied on the sale of excess food products from household agriculture. Food crops have replaced both cash crops and cattle as resources for trade.
The agriculture practiced in Nyadar after the war is, like in the rest of Teso, the traditional system of small scale rotational cropping on a household basis (Lawrence 1957: 134). The ground is cleared in February and then, starting with the first rains in March, millet, maize sorghum, cassava and ground nuts, planted. It is usual to have separate gardens for each crop although some inter-cropping is practiced. Each garden is weeded twice before the harvesting in July and August. Varieties of cassava, which take up to a year to mature, are weeded four times. At the second rains in July sweet potatoes, simsim, cowpeas, cassava and sorghum are planted. These are weeded and then harvested in November and December. The plots used are left fallow in subsequent years.
The initial agriculture practiced in Nyadar in the early nineties was precarious. Many families, yet to move back to the villages, farmed only small plots around the camp. Those who farmed in the villages had to clear swathes of bush. The most significant factor and change in the agriculture practiced was the lack of
137 cattle for ploughing and the resort to hoe agriculture, which required significantly more labour and yielded far lower returns. The loss of productivity in agriculture was evident throughout Teso. Table 3.3 shows the district yields for various crops over twenty years and the slow pace of recovery in agriculture after the war.
Table 3.3 Yields of various crops in Teso District between 1975 and 1994 (Edaku 1995:119).
Number of hectares
Year Millet Cassava Ground nuts 1975 42051 17713 11749 1985 39271 19347 7983 1988 26207 ? 5769 1989 31647 3794 670 1990 34812 8034 915 1991 31132 8052 573 1992 15346 4228 1279 1993 12575 1714 577 1994 8792 1199 1177
Even in 1996 the output of crops in Teso as a whole was only between 30 and 40% of the potential capacity (Mukiibi 1996). The majority of land lay fallow in Nyadar. Never-the-less agriculture has stabilised in Teso since the war and stands as the backbone of the process of post-war recovery.
The Organisation of Agriculture
Whilst in ideology people in Nyadar recognise the land held by members of their lineage as a common resource, in practice it is subdivided between households. This subdivision takes place on two occasions. When a man marries, his wife moves away from her natal home to live with him in line with the system of patrilocal residence. Together the couple build a new house on land apportioned to them by the groom’s father and farm their land independently. The second subdivision of land occurs on the death of a father according to a system of
138 patrilineal inheritance. Then his sons gather to decide how the remaining land is to be allocated with each retaining the land apportioned to them on marriage.
Household agriculture in Nyadar is organised through the separation of land into ‘gardens’ - emusire. Each garden is given the name of one member of the household. The named person is responsible both for organising the labour needed on the garden and for the use of the harvest crops. Most commonly gardens of a home are given the name of the wife of the home. Crops from a wife’s garden are those eaten by members of her household. Any surplus tends to be sold on a weekly basis to provide the small monetary needs of the household, for example a handful of sweet potatoes for 400/=, a cup of millet for 100/=. This money is used to buy household needs such as salt, sugar, soap or paraffin. In addition a wife often grows gardens of millet, which she can use for brewing beer for sale. Those gardens grown under the name of the male household head are those grown specifically with cash food crops, rice or ground nuts. Women rarely have gardens for cash food crops apart from millet. Those women who grow cash crops either have a particularly strong relationship with their husband and sons and rely upon their labour or have independent capital so as to be able to employ labourers. A garden can also be given the name of one of the children, a provision discussed in Chapter Four.
Labour for household agriculture is organised in two ways. Firstly, it is organized through intra-household relations. In principle people in Nyadar held that certain tasks belonged specifically to men and women of the household: clearing the land and ploughing to be conducted by men, sowing and weeding by women. In practice there was much give and take in the division of agricultural labour especially if the household was composed of a young couple. With a lack of ox ploughs, both men and women hoed the land, weeded and harvested. Even where a household had access to oxen, women would often be seen ploughing. It was age rather than gender that dictated the share of agricultural labour; young people of the household bore the brunt of the work.
139 Secondly, a household relied upon inter-household relations in many agricultural tasks. The traditional system for organising extra-household labour was known as eitai (Lawrence 1957: 136; Vincent 1968: 208; Ogajo 1995: 39). Here a group of labourers came to work on someone else’s fields in return for a beer party at the end of the day, a system common for work parties throughout Africa (e.g. Gulliver 1971: 195). Though still apparently practiced in other parts of Teso, there were no instances of eitai in Nyadar during my fieldwork. People stated that their households lacked the surplus of millet required and that they preferred to sell any surplus millet they had for trade in the market or keep it to brew beer for sale. Instead many households relied upon a system known as aleya. Here a group of people from various households joined together, most often in weeding. The group would rotate so as to work on the gardens of each of the group members in turn. If debts were held between members of the group they could be paid off by 17 contribution to an aleya work party.
Households, mainly female headed, who lacked manpower for heavy tasks such clearing and ploughing used a system known as ‘cutting the hen’ - aitub acocor. They would ask local young men to work on their gardens for a day in return for a meal of a chicken at the end. Both aleya and aitub acocor were organised through neighbourhood and kinship networks and often through church groups. Such kinds of inter-household co-operation were essential in the early years after the war when people were restarting agriculture without ox ploughs. They relied on the most abundant resource around them; other people.
The use of waged labour in agriculture, a system called aipakas, was also common. Those households with access to monetary income and who tended to farm larger acreage of land employed labourers, preferably not their kin. People were employed to plough, to weed and to harvest crops. The rate of pay for aipakas increased in 1997 from 500/= a day to 1000/= a day for work from 7am until 2pm. For many villagers aipakas was the major source of monetary income for day to day household expenses on items such as sugar, salt and soap. The daily rate of 1000/= bought a kilo of sugar which would last a household two to three
140 days, or two kilos of salt lasting ten days or two bars of soap lasting about a week. Alternatively 1500/= bought a pot of beer enough for three people for an evening. Aipakas was also the system used by many young people to raise their school fees. They would divide the week into days that they laboured on their own gardens and days that they laboured for aipakas. Inter-household labour relations in Nyadar have been largely monetarised; members of richer households in Nyadar stated 1 ft that it was “cheaper” to pay labourers in cash rather than with beer.
By the time I came to Nyadar in 1996 it was evident that there was increasing income differentiation between households in Nyadar. Differentiation was clear between those with access to surplus money who hired labourers for agriculture and those who could not, who laboured in turn. The literature offers two different models to explain the processes of differentiation between households. The first argues that differentiation is dependant on the articulation of ‘top down’ capitalist structures with peasant agriculture. This is a trend evident in other areas of Uganda in which those households with access to external sources of capital through employment are then able to multiply such capital through investment in agriculture (Mamdani 1992; Edaku 1994: 44).19
The second model is offered by Vincent in her study of the processes by which people rose to become members of the elite in Gondo (1968). She suggests that big men achieved wealth and influence as much by manipulating processes of the community as by holding positions of waged employment from wider national structures. She studied the processes by which men rose to these positions of wealth and influence. They did so by manipulating affinal relations and agricultural resources, drawing in a circle of dependants, upon whom their wealth and influence was based.
In the post-war period in Nyadar, both models apply to processes of household differentiation. The wealthiest households by the time I did my fieldwork were those where a member of the household had access to external resources and capital. Where the conflict had made an impact in Nyadar, however, was to level
141 the opportunities for wealth creation and access to external capital. The wealthiest households in Nyadar were those who had access to salaries through teaching and administration (though in many cases these were not received until 1994) or from a military career. They were also those of entrepreneurs who had made money from business opportunities in the conflict and post conflict periods. For example one of the wealthiest households in Nyadar was that of an uneducated young man who had been a refugee in Soroti. Whilst there he learnt to make burnt bricks. On return to Nyadar he supplied large numbers of burnt bricks for the building of the new secondary school and reconstruction of the Catholic Church, making large amounts of money. Other households had gained initial wealth through favourable bridewealth transactions soon after the conflict. In the post-war period in Nyadar “accumulation from below” is as important and effective as “accumulation from above” (c.f. Mamdani 1992: 208).20 Through investment in oxen, ploughs and the hire of labour, a wealthy household could strengthen the agricultural base, increase the amount of crops grown above the food requirements of the household and thus the surplus available for sale and profit thus increasing wealth differentiation.
Yet it was a direct result of the conflict and ensuing impoverishment that the number of households able to subsidise aipakas for their gardens had significantly decreased. In a survey of 60 households in 1968 Anthony and Uchendu (1975: 74) found that 57% of households employed people through aipakas. In my survey of 54 households in Otela in 1997 only 9% of the households employed people in aipakas.
Two other trends accompany these changes in accumulation in Nyadar. First, the farming of rice. This is a significant innovation in agriculture throughout Teso since the war. For those with excess capital, oxen and access to large tracts of swampland, rice had become a major cash crop. 1996 was particularly successful for rice growing. One man in Nyadar harvested 12 sacks of rice, he sold these for 600 000/=, enough to buy a new bicycle, to re-build a mud brick house and to see four of his children through secondary school. For others, the money earned from rice growing provided the capital to start shops and businesses. Traders from
142 Soroti drove to the rural areas to buy and transport the sacks of rice to town stores. Many people tried to grow rice in 1997 but there was widespread failure because of drought.21
The second trend in post-war Nyadar is a change in capital distribution. Prior to the loss of family herds, wealth in Nyadar was re-distributed throughout homes through the system of bridewealth and through a system of patronage, in which they might re-distribute cattle amongst less wealthy kin and neighbours in return for herding duties. In the post conflict era, the system of waged labour - aipakas, is as important a mechanism for wealth distribution.
Agricultural Trade
In Nyadar the regeneration of household economies since the war has depended upon opportunities for the trade of agricultural food crops. Throughout Teso since the war household economies have been gradually re-linked to regional and national economies. There has been a joining of informal trade networks, of the government initiated market places of the era before large scale economic collapse in Uganda, of the political economic trend in Uganda of de-regulation (Ochieng 1991) and the ongoing economic progress of the south of the country into an infrastructure of trade. This linkage occurred on varying scales. On the smallest scale households sell their weekly surplus of crops in the local market. There was a twice-weekly market in Oditel and a smaller weekly market within Nyadar parish. In more recent years households had taken to stock piling surplus crops for sale until after the low prices of the harvest months have passed. On a larger scale crops, such as groundnuts and rice, were grown specifically for sale to middlemen who came from Soroti. All such trade forms a vital, if often unrecorded, part of family production and accumulation (Brett 1996: 215).
143 Other Trade and Business
The economic re-generation of households in Nyadar has not just been based upon the possibilities for the trade of food crops. Equally important has been the trade of alcohol, livestock and consumer goods. As was the case with food stuffs such trade continued throughout the conflict. It did so under the control of both UPA and NRA members. They linked up with, and indeed were themselves, black- market traders in Soroti and beyond and often dealt in looted foodstuffs and livestock. The first man in Oditel to buy a cow after the war was one of those who had been involved in assisting the NRA soldiers to trade looted cattle out of Teso to the meat markets of Kampala.
Contacts with the UPA and NRA were the point of entry of money amongst the civilian population during the war. In the early months of the camp, households particularly relied upon the sale of alcohol brewed by women, to either rebels or soldiers for a small cash income. The Karamojong who were by this time migrating into Teso also provided a market for alcohol. Such trade had its dangers. On more than one occasion people in the camp were killed by rebels because they had been seen selling, or were reported to have been selling, alcohol to the soldiers.
Since the end of the conflict the sale of millet beer, ajon, and cassava gin, waragi, has proved to be a major source of revenue for women and their families throughout Teso (Pottier & Orone 1994: 17; Edaku 1995: 45; Nyangor 1995: 112). In Nyadar the sale of beer revolves around Oditel where there is wide scale alcoholic consumption throughout the week, especially on market days.22 The majority of women come in from the villages to sell their beer in the camp, on average twice a month. Other women live there permanently and sell beer as a daily business.
The brewing and sale of alcohol in Nyadar is part of a trend evident throughout Africa of the commoditisation of traditionally female roles and domains as women
144 enter the informal economy (Cheater 1986: 103; Obbo 1981: 126). Some studies (Moore 1988: 89) suggest that the economic gain women make from such informal economy activity is merely dissipated into basic daily subsistence needs for themselves and their households and constitutes no real financial accumulation. This is often the case in Nyadar; a woman would on average make about 30 000/= a month from brewing beer, much of this went on the needs of the household, for clothes, salt and sugar etc. In Nyadar, however, as will be shown throughout the thesis, many aspects of ‘life’ beyond subsistence are also funded from brewing activity. One woman in Oditel who had a particularly successful brewing enterprise had paid the bridewealth of both her brothers (see Chapter Five). Young women often pay their own school fees and buy goats through the profit they gain from brewing. Indeed, as Obbo notes in Kampala, (1991: 107) it is often such petty trade that constitutes the real ‘living’ wage of Ugandans. Pottier and Orone (1994: 19) observe that through brewing women have taken on increasing economic responsibility in Teso since the war. They suggest this change is at the heart of much tension in household relations and debates over gender roles in the area.
Others in Nyadar have built the economic regeneration of their homes on small businesses, either small hotels or shops usually based in Oditel. People remarked on these businesses as a major innovation. Previous to the conflict such businesses were run, first, by traders with connections to Asian traders, and later, by those who held government franchises. They were relatively rare in Oditel and did not rival the cattle trade as a source of income. In contrast, at the time of my fieldwork there were fifteen small shops in Oditel, run in the main by young men, as well as seven small restaurants.
Again the war economy supported by NRA soldiers and UPA rebels has been the foundation for the resurgence of trade in consumer goods in the years since the end of the war. For example, the largest and most successful shop in Oditel was built in 1993 by a man in his early thirties called Odit. He had been resident in Oditel whilst it was under army supervision and had become particularly friendly
145 with a number of the high ranking NRA soldiers in the barracks. During 1990 he had started traveling to Soroti and back in the NRA vehicles. Whilst in Soroti he organised to buy sacks of salt and sugar from his uncle who was a trader there. Odit bought the sacks back to Oditel in the army trucks and started selling salt and sugar from his hut in the camp. Over time he used the daily pick-up service and expanded the range of items he bought to Oditel to sell.24 He has since moved to Soroti to run a shop in the high street. His wife oversees the shop in Oditel, which Odit built in 1993 as a permanent structure having been given a plot of land on the main street by a family friend. Odit has since funded two of his brothers to set up shops in Oditel.
The second largest shop in Oditel is run by a man who had been in charge of area wide supplies for rebels between 1986 and 1989. Previous to this, under Obote II, he held one of the government franchises for a shop in a trading centre south of Oditel. During the war years he kept a large store in Soroti where he stock piled second hand clothing, salt and charcoal. In 1989 he was arrested by NRA soldiers as a rebel supporter and was in prison for two years. On return he used the store of
n r goods to launch the shop in Oditel in rented premises.
For many, connections with those who had had access to trade and money throughout the war provided a platform for the reconstruction of trade after the war. As Brett (1996: 215) notes such enterprise shows great resilience in times of insecurity. Others in Nyadar have built businesses as entrepreneurs since the end of the conflict and taken advantage of national policies of de-regulation. At the time of my fieldwork such trade provided an ever-increasing range of material goods available for sale in Oditel, both in the shops and on market days when small traders set up stalls there. With the strengthening of household economies there was ever-increasing capacity to buy them.
146 The organisation of household economies
In Nyadar the household economy is strictly divided between a husband and wife, between parents and children. There is no common financial pool to which all members had a claim. Thus money was held by individuals and redistributed between members in the name of gifts, as were other resources. A grown member of the household had control over the produce from gardens grown in their name and of the money gained from their sale. As discussed above crops from women’s gardens were the ones used for household subsistence. It was generally the gardens of a male household head that were used for cash crops. Children and wives were expected to contribute labour on these gardens. The harvest was not sold in a piecemeal fashion nor was it consumed by the household. It was stored in sacks until a favourable market was found. A man used the money gained for his own consumption of beer and food (meat, eggs, beans) that he bought home to be cooked for him alone. He invested in livestock and poultry, bought material goods for the household or himself, paid school fees or started a business. He could also take the financial responsibility for the marriage transactions of his sons. There were greater and lesser extents to which households had gardens under a man’s name, depending on the amount of money he could invest in hiring labour and cultivation. Some homes had no gardens in the man’s name at alL There were greater and lesser extents to which men would redistribute money to members of his household.
The separation of finances between household members was a source of great tension. There were often occasions when a husband would ‘steal’ money from his wife, either taking it by force or taking it from her hiding place. Likewise one of the most vocal complaints of wives against their husbands was their meanness in giving them and their children gifts of money. These complaints were most often heard amongst wealthier families, especially when a woman’s husband was in employment and had access to larger sums of capital. Then she felt it his responsibility to take on the four major areas of financial outlay beyond the needs of subsistence; children’s’ health care, educational and marriage expenses, and the
147 purchase of material goods for the home. Tension arose when a husband failed to fulfill what a wife saw as his responsibility.
This situation contrasts to Mamdani’s research (1992: 204) in Lira. He suggests that a tension over the organisation of household economies was most fraught in poorer families. In Nyadar the poorest families often evidenced the most co operation between members with husbands and wives devoting their energies towards joint subsistence. In contrast in wealthier families there were constant debates over who should pay for what, whether a wife should contribute unpaid labour on her husband’s gardens when he would pay other laboureres in aipakas and whether she should supplement the household income with money she made from brewing.
The household economy in time
The security of a household economy varied in time. Over the years since the end of the war there have been seasons of varying agricultural success. The famine years of 1994 and 1997 were ones in which misfortune, the cassava mosaic disease and El Nino respectively, reduced many households back to a subsistence economy and even to people having to rely on wild plants and animals gathered from the bush and relief hand-outs. Yet just as there were sparse years so too were there abundant years. Since leaving the field I have heard that 1998 proved to be as successful an agricultural year as had 1996. At the end of 1998 there were a plethora of church wedding ceremonies, occasions that require considerable financial outlay and are thus evidence of successful agriculture and trade resulting in surplus amounts of cash.
On the level of individual households economies could be best by the loss of livestock through disease, or the loss of surplus food through having to cater for funeral ceremonies. In addition the economic reserves and strength of a household were affected by a domestic cycle of kinship, which cross cut with household economies as discussed below. The state of a household also varied from year to
148 year and from month to month. The months before a new harvest were always difficult with many households resorting to eat wild plants gathered from the bush. The diet would be reduced by a lack of means to buy sugar or salt and basic necessities and then supplemented with these again once the harvest was in and there were excess food crops for sale.
EXPENDITURE FOR THE HOME
Material Possessions
On a day to day level money from regenerated household economies was used for the purchase of additional food stuffs from the market or for household requirements such as salt, sugar, bicycle repairs, soap, matches, paraffin and cooking oil. Beyond this larger financial outlays were made for clothes, health care and for the education of children and into the further physical reconstruction of homes. This not only included the re-building of houses, it involved the refurbishment of homes with material possessions. Those households raided by Karamojong, rebels or NRA often had their family possessions reduced to nothing. When people were moved into the camps, soldiers took freely of their possessions. Over the worst of the camp years there was little opportunity to replenish worn items, with a lack of money and trade. Consequently people in the years of recovery people have not only sought to rebuild their homes, but also to re-accumulate material items.
Material wealth was provision for the functioning of the household. There were material necessities such as saucepans for cooking, plates for eating, and jerry cans for collecting water, which were necessities without which daily tasks were near on impossible. These were bought first. Luxury items such as bicycles, mattresses and radios were acquired later. On another level however material possessions were about something more than function for the household. They corresponded to the material yet also phenomenological markers by which people judged ‘life’ and to aesthetic ideals for the recovery of a home. People desired to make their homes ‘beautiful’. The word for beauty in Ateso, elai, translates as
149 ‘smart’ and ‘clean’. The index of beauty was directly proportional to the volume of material possessions and the evidence of financial outlay. Those families who were considered to have the most ‘beautiful’ homes in Nyadar were in possession of the greatest number of possessions and livestock. Throughout Nyadar there was evidence of a growing pride in being able to make homes ‘beautiful’ once more; flowers and trees were planted, new houses built and material possessions desired and bought.
At the close of the war various aid programmes gave out essential material goods such as plastic jerry cans for holding water, saucepans, basins, plates and cups.27 It was most usually the household head, however, who with access to surplus cash bought things for the family. Table 3.5 shows the items bought over the years by Adongu, head of the family with whom I lived in Nyadar. As described in Chapter Two the family had lost all their material possession during a rebel attack in 1988. As headmaster of Oditel primary school, Adongu had a salary and thus the means to buy more than the average amount of material items. His household inventory shows the priority of goods bought for what was considered a very ‘beautiful’ home.
By no means had all households such level of goods. The data in Table 3.6 is drawn from Otela and records the number of mattresses, radios and bicycles owned in 43 of households there. For many households such goods were a luxury item. Their possession reflected a substantial surplus amount of cash in the household economy.28As shown by Table 3.6, the number of households that reached beyond these levels was few.
Table 3.5 Post War Household Inventory
150 Year ______Items bought______1989 1990 Saucepan, plates, sheets, knives, water pot, sacks, clothes for children, self and wife, 9Q basin, hoe 1991 Hoe, chair, Bible, shoes for self 1992 Grinding stone, pestle and mortar 1993 Table, radio, second hand bicycle 1994 Shoes for wife and children, mattress for self and wife, chair 1995 Lantern, Gomas for wife,30 smart set of plates, ox plough 1996 New bicycle, photograph album, basin, lace cover for radio, charcoal stove 1997 Mosquito net, own drinking straws for beer, charcoal iron, kettle 1998 Bed for self, tin box. ______
Table 3.6 Items owned by households in Otela village
Item Number Number of owned Households Mattress 0 31 1 17 2 3 3 0 Radio 0 44 1 7 , 2 1 3 0 Bicycles 0 28 1 22 2 2 3 0
151 Table 3.7 Year and Means of acquisition of bicycles in Otela village
Year Bicycle Acquired Num ber 1993 2 1994 3 1995 1 1996 7 1997 11 Means of Acquisition Selling Crops 11 Employment31 7 Selling Livestock 3 Business/Trade (not crops) 3
Nevertheless the financial security of households and the ability to ‘beautify’ the home was growing. Table 3.7 shows when and how the twenty-two bicycles in Otela had been bought. It illustrates the growing financial security of households in Nyadar in more recent years and the basis on which that security was being built.
In all these cases the bicycles had been bought by men who were their primary users. Women of the households sometimes borrowed the bicycle to fetch water or, rarely, to travel to a meeting. They were most often carried out of the home, to the market or to a clinic for treatment, on the back of a bicycle by their sons or husbands. There were only two women in the whole of Nyadar parish who could lay claim to having their own bicycle. One was a community worker for a CHIPS project, the other was recently divorced and returned from Kampala with capital from her ex-husband. In household economics it was usually men with their greater access to surplus cash, from the control of cash crops, their employment, who held the greatest purchase power for buying the luxury items.
152 Livestock
The population of Nyadar also wished for their homes to be refilled with livestock and poultry. On re-settling back to villages the first item to be bartered for or purchased was a chicken. To find chicken in the home was a sign of occupancy and ownership with the possibility for entertaining visitors. The description for abject poverty in Nyadar was “there is not even a chicken” - “emameete ecocor”. After chickens people aimed for sheep, pigs, goats, ducks, turkeys and cattle.
People in Nyadar stated that the presence of livestock in a home contributed to the vision of beauty. Animals were also material provision in the form of meat, milk, eggs and dung. But most importantly, a household with animals had potential. Animals were an incremental store of wealth. In the reproductive cycle of an animal a household held a regenerative resource for sale or barter in the future. To invest in an animal was to multiply that investment through the reproductive future of the animal and to have access to an ever-increasing resource for exchange. Animals were banks of wealth that might be sold and the money used for the requirements of health, material possessions, education and kinship. People in Nyadar referred to livestock as ‘wet money’ - isirigin luepalal (a theme elaborated in Chapter Five). The term ‘wet’ - epalal, referred to the fertility of the animal but was also a word used to express ‘riches’. The fertility of animals was thus linked to the metaphorical fertility, the ‘riches’ of the household. This relationship had its highest expression in the ownership of cattle. In the use of ox ploughs cattle represented a potential of agriculture. In the exchange of bridewealth cattle gave a potential of household reproduction. Through both these cattle roles increased the security of a household’s claim upon the future for both processes constituted a household as a ‘home’.
153 Cattle
Of all livestock the re-acquisition of cattle was of greatest import for households in Nyadar. Figures from Otela village (Table 3.8) give a description of the state of re-stocking in Nyadar in 1997.
Table 3.8 Cattle owned in Otela village
Number of Cattle in Number of the Household Households 0 41 1 2 2 7 3 1 4 0 5 1 6 1 7 0 8 1
This information, acquired on one occasion, belies the processual nature of the acquisition of cattle. It is a static indicator of processes of exchange, gain and loss. It does, however, indicate the rarity of ownership of cattle amongst households in Nyadar. At the time of my fieldwork there was an average of 0.7 cattle per household. Again it is hard to assess how great a loss in cattle this rarity represents for people in Nyadar. Prior to Karamojong raiding and the conflict cattle were owned in differing numbers at different times. One indication is given in Table 3.9 which shows the approximate number of cattle lost by older men in Otela village in the first Karamojong raids in 1979. A second indication can be gained from a survey conducted across Teso by Uchendii and Anthony in 1968. They state that in 1968 the average number of cattle owned per household was 13 (1975: 74).
154 Table 3.9 Numbers of cattle said to be owned and lost by 16 men at the time of the first Karamojong raids in Nyadar in 1979.
Number of cattle in the kraal at Number of cattle stolen time of raid 67 50 50 25 31 20 30 12 24 22 24 24 14 10 12 8 12 8 10 10 9 9 7 2 7 5 7 2 6 6 2 2 Average: 19.5 12
Table 3.10 Means of acquisition of cattle in Otela village
Means of Acquisition of Number of cattle cattle Selling crops 12 Employment of member of 9 household Offspring of original cattle 7 acquired Bridewealth of sister/daughter 4 Loan/gift from Karamojong 3 ‘friend’ NGO re-stocking project 3
Table 3.10 indicates the means of acquisition of the thirty eight cattle owned within Otela. It illustrates the overwhelming reliance on agricultural trade and on money as the means of acquisition and affirms the role of these in regenerating household economies and accumulation.
155 KINSHIP RELATIONS IN THE HOME: MARRIAGE AND BRIDEWEALTH
I have considered the regeneration of household economies and expenditure in Nyadar that has occurred since the end of the conflict. I move now to assess processes of post-war recovery in aspects of kinship relations of the ‘home’. This will involve, first, consideration of the recommitment to bridewealth payments at marriage and second, consideration of relations between members of the household and the wider lineage. It is, however, impossible to assess these processes of kinship without attention to economic state of the household. For the household is always a site of interconnection between production and reproduction, economics and kinship (Goody 1958; 1976: 32). The character and path of recovery in post-war patterns of kinship processes in Nyadar is thus shaped by the historical relationship and connection of factors of kinship with those of household economies.
In Teso the connection between production and reproduction is located in cattle. Cattle are not only a means of agricultural production, they also represent the most desirable item to be accumulated. At present, as discussed in Chapter Five, the attitude to cattle throughout Teso is changing and it is as common for people to store wealth in bank accounts and to invest in buildings and vehicles as in herds. Nevertheless for people in Nyadar having cattle in the home represents a state of material and phenomenological ‘life’ once more. For cattle are also crucial to the home as the means of reproducing the home through bridewealth exchanges at marriage. The cattle in homes throughout Nyadar are located not just in economic processes of agriculture and accumulation, but also in processes of social reproduction for the ‘home’.
Therefore, in looking at processes of kinship in households in Nyadar since the end of the conflict, I am concerned with a historical state of mutual influence between aspects of kinship and economics. In particular, the institution of
156 bridewealth and transfer of cattle is a helpful window on the interaction between processes of household production and reproduction, not only because cattle bridge both economic and kinship processes, but also because the transfer of bridewealth is an ideological and cultural as well economic and material practice (Murray 1981: 146).
Case Study
The following case study of the economic regeneration of the household of a man called Boris Onyait from Nyadar shows the ongoing and various demands of marriage transactions on a household economy.
1987 Boris returned to Nyadar from working in Kampala as a clerk. He returned with his wife and seven of his eight children (his eldest daughter had married in Kampala. Boris now has eleven children). He rebuilt his home in the village and used money saved from his job to invest in agriculture, especially cassava and ground nuts. That year his second daughter married and Boris was given three cows, twelve goats and 1500/= for her bridewealth. Of the goats one each was given to Boris’s mother and Boris’s wife’s mother. The money was used to buy a Gomas dress for Boris’s wife. A few months later, however, Boris’s sister, who had married in 1983, was divorced by her husband who demanded the refund of the bridewealth - six cattle and twenty goats. Boris took the three cows from his daughter’s marriage to a market and exchanged them for five smaller ones which he gave to the ex-husband of his sister. He also gave them six goats from his daughter’s bridewealth, leaving a debt of one cow and 14 goats.
1988 Boris’s sister remarried and Boris was given twenty goats for her bridewealth. He gave all these to her previous husband and the debt was cleared apart from one cow. He continued in agriculture and used the money to send his two eldest sons to secondary school in Soroti.
1989 Boris and rest of family moved to Oditel camp. He sold one of the remaining four goats from his daughter’s bridewealth. The
157 other three he lent to a friend. With a halt on agriculture the household economy depended on the brewing of beer by Boris’s wife. She made 12 000/= a month through this, selling to soldiers in the barracks.
1990 Boris got a job as a clerk in the Catholic mission and a salary of 30 000/= a month. This mainly went for the school fees of his younger children. His two elder sons had remained in Soroti whilst their family were in Oditel camp. Their school fees were paid for one year by Boris’s brother there.
1992 The family remained in the camp but re-started agriculture in the village. Boris used the money from his wage at the mission to employ labourers on his fields. He grew millet, cassava and ground nuts as cash crops. He got a profit of 60 000/= and gave this to a friend to ‘keep’ for him. The household monetary economy continued to be based on proceeds from his wife’s brewing.
1993 The family moved back to the village. Boris used the previous year’s profit which had been kept by his friend and money from his wages to build a mud brick house for himself and his wife. He re-invested in agriculture and hired a set of oxen and plough to farm a field of rice, cassava and ground nuts. After harvest and sale the profit was 150 000/= although he kept back one sack of rice. Later in the year Boris’s daughter, who had married in 1987, was divorced by her husband. She kept their two children and her former husband decided that he would not demand the whole bridewealth back so that some would remain for the upkeep of his children. Boris used 120 000/= (60 000/= per cow) and one goat, taken back from his friend, to repay the bridewealth. A debt of 60 000/= remained.
1994 Boris sold the remaining rice, used money from previous years agriculture and from an advance on his salary to buy four oxen. He gave one to close the debt on his sister’s bridewealth since her ex-husbands family was threatening to take Boris to court. One oxen died. He used the remaining two for agriculture and grew cassava, millet and rice. It was not, however, a successful year for agriculture and Boris was forced withdrew all his children from school, including his two sons in Soroti who returned home.
1995
158 The girlfriend of one of the sons who had been at school in Soroti became pregnant. Boris told his son to go and get employment in order to raise the bridewealth and the son went to Kampala to join the army. The second son went to Soroti again to start business. Meanwhile the parents of the girlfriend demanded a bridewealth of one cow, 100 000/= and six goats. The girl came to live with Boris and his family. Boris used his two remaining cows for agriculture once more. He grew cash crops of ground nuts, rice and cassava also invested his salary from the mission in this. With the proceeds he paid 50 000/= towards the ‘fine’ imposed on his son for the pregnancy of his girlfriend. He sent his daughter back to school and gave money for his third son, who had been in secondary school, to set up as economically independent. The son moved away from his parent’s home and built his own house. With the money given by his father he bought a camera and set up a photography business in Oditel. From then on he invested in agriculture independently of his father deciding not to return to school. Boris also sent 10 000/= to his daughters ex-husband to continue paying off his debt there.
1996 The two oxen died. Boris used his remaining profit from the previous year to hire oxen and a plough for cash cropping rice. It was a successful year and he sold six sacks of rice for a profit of 300 000/=. With this he built another house in the village and cemented the floor, continued to pay school fees for his daughter. He paid the remaining debt on his daughter’s bridewealth. He bought some land in another parish in the area with a view to his large family and the need for his sons to have land of their own in future.
1997 Boris invested heavily in agriculture. He spent 150 000/= on hiring a tractor to plough a large strip of land for rice and for the labour for weeding. He used 60 000/= for labour for growing ground nuts, 25 000/= for millet and 10 000/= for sorghum. The drought conditions meant that the entire rice harvest failed and he only gathered one sack of ground nuts and one sack of millet surplus to the household’s requirements. Later in the year the parents of his son’s girlfriend came to say that if the bridewealth was not paid soon, they would collect their daughter and her child and take them back again. Boris gathered ten goats. One from his brother, one from his wife’s mother, two from the friend to whom he had lent goats previously and one lent by another friend, four of his own. The goats were taken by the parents of the girl but they still demanded the completion of the rest of the bridewealth. Boris had received no communication
159 from his son in Kampala about the situation but the girl had proved a great bonus to the family in her brewing skills and Boris felt it was worth trying to finish paying the bridewealth.
This case study clearly shows that, in regenerating a household economy, the heaviest demands on that economy were transactions in kinship, in particular bridewealth payments. There are a number of points that this case study raises. First, transactions in bridewealth are the domain of men. In lineage meetings where control over marriages and bridewealth were discussed and worked out it was rare to find women present. Those women who were involved in such a circle of men were included for their age or educational standing. In effect the regeneration of household economies beyond a level of subsistence, to the extent that a home linked to both networks of cash crop trade and marriage transactions, was a regeneration controlled through the hands of men. This makes the process of the post-war recovery of homes and the commitment to the future of that home a gendered process, a point elaborated below.
Second, male household heads were quick to recommit to the heavy demands of marriage transactions after the economic dearth of the war years. This involved re committing to bridewealth transfer despite the substantial loss of cattle which were the traditional medium of such exchanges. Indeed, the system and ideology of bridewealth in Nyadar was retained throughout the conflict by various strategies. For example in some exchanges bridewealth cattle were substituted with pigs, goats and money. In others bridewealth transfers were put ‘on hold’ until they could be fulfilled. In some cases children of a home were married quickly and at young ages in intervals when there were cattle in the home. In the early 1980s, as raiding and rumours of raiding intensified, some families married their children as young as five years old. The young girl came grow up in the home of her in-laws. At the time of my fieldwork many of these couples had established their own homes and had one or two children. Finally some young men became ‘rebels for a day’, raiding cattle from neighbours in order to obtain bridewealth. One man in Nyadar jokingly referred to his neighbour’s wife as “my
160 wife” and her children as “my children.” During the conflict his neighbour had stolen five cattle from him and used them the very next day to pay his bridewealth.
In such a context, a continuation with marriage transactions inflates and clarifies their ideological importance (c.f. J & J Comaroff 1990: 210). There was great emphasis in Nyadar on ensuring that marriage cycles and developments continued despite the impoverishment in the ability to make transactions and impoverishment in the content of those transactions. For the male members of a household to commit to marriage, bringing in new wives and creating claims to children, was to commit to the future of the home. As people in Nyadar returned to life after the restrictions and dangers of the war a commitment to marriage, the future of the home, was reflection of an ability to lay claim to any future at all.
Third, household heads continued those bridewealth obligations and debts created before the war. Under pressure from the involved parties Boris proceeded, after the war, to pay back a debt created by the divorce of his sister before the conflict. This was a major point of concern in Nyadar. In the cases arbitrated by the LC2 and parish chief in Nyadar during the period December 1996 until March 1998, the second most frequent type of case was the resolution of debts of kinship from before the war.33These debts had often been propounded during the war by the loss of cattle and there was open debate on how these losses, which was in effect an inflation of the debt, should be incorporated.
So, for example, in 1986 one man in Nyadar had received a bridewealth of four cows for his daughter, whilst still demanding two further cattle be paid. In 1987 the four cows were looted by rebels. In 1997 he bought the case to the parish chief for resolution. He reasoned that since the cows had been looted and the bridewealth was incompletely paid, it was as if his daughter were not properly married into her present home where, by this time, she had three children. The parish chief advised that the son-in-law pay four cattle to cement the marriage once more.
161 Underpinning such agreements was an ideological concern throughout Teso that the loss of cattle and the reduction of bridewealth to war standards of goats, pigs and increased debts, had served to undermine the stability and credibility of the institution of marriage. I often heard men joke ruefully on markets days in Oditel. Men standing around the goat pen would remark that these days, the goats in the pen were enough for a handful of bridewealths. They thus reflected on the loss of wealth in cattle and in the meaning of marriage payments. In striving to re-pay marriage debts at pre-war levels and to incorporate the war losses, there was a concern to bolster the value of bridewealth, the value of wives and the stability of marriage against historical erosion. For men understood that the more significant the value of bridewealth, the more a wife would contribute to a home. It was reflection on what the consequences of the loss of cattle meant in Teso. The loss of cattle was a loss of wealth for production and reproduction and the loss of personal effectiveness in these processes. For men this was an emotional loss of the standing and pride conferred by the ability to make marriage transactions.
Lastly, as the case study shows, the ability to transact in bridewealth was severely hampered by the economic straits of the post war period. Not only was there a loss of cattle resources and family herds but of the stability of the economic base also. The economic progress of the post-war years was not unilinear. Fortunes of the household waned and fluxed with varying agricultural success. Inherent within the obligations of bridewealth were unexpected demands that could cripple the progress and stability of a household. Boris, for example, had faced the divorce of a daughter and the pregnancy of a son’s girlfriend. Debts and repayments had to be constantly negotiated within the possibilities. Household recovery was not uni directional towards economic security and the ability to gather bridewealth was a constant struggle.
As shown by the case study above the relationship between process of marriage and processes of economics in household reconstruction in Nyadar is mutually contributive. Economic gains fed into marriage transactions and marriage gains fed into economic transactions. In the absence of large herds of cattle economic,
162 agricultural and kinship processes have become more fused in contributions to the survival and development of the home. In contrast to family herds as a store of wealth, in the post conflict period cattle have become a flow of wealth.
It is also the case that the relationship between household marriage transactions and economics in Nyadar is mutually constitutive. On the side of marriage, there is a retention of ideals. This is evinced in the commitment to paying bridewealth at all, in the remembrance and management of pre-war bridewealth debts, in the belief that bridewealth must be retained for the stability of marriage and for the control and pride of men. The form of marriage transactions is conserved. In the case of economic processes though, there is the huge impoverishment wrought by the war; the loss of cattle, the low level of cattle re-stocking and the day to day struggle to maintain a economy for the household. There is impoverishment in the ability to provide the content of bridewealth exchanges.
What results is a dialectic of the retention of marriage and bridewealth ideals and economic impoverishment. This has led to a change and negotiation in the institution of marriage and bridewealth in the period of post-war period First, as Table 3.11 shows, though retained, the size of bridewealth payments demanded has been sizably reduced. Since the conflict the average number of cattle demanded for marriages in Otela was 3.5. This is a significant fall from the number transferred prior to the war. In a Teso-wide survey in 1968 Anthony and Uchendu (1975: 38) found that the average number of cattle demanded for bridewealth in the 1930s was 16.
Second, bridewealth acts as an important force in the redistribution of cattle and wealth between households after the war. It was common for households to gain cattle through the marriage of a daughter, to use cattle for a season of ploughing and then to pass them on through the marriage of a son. And it was not just cattle that were re-distributed in bridewealth exchanges. The household head might request a bridewealth of money, bicycles or ploughs in lieu of cattle. Since the war bridewealth had become a crucial forum for negotiating the current needs of a
163 household. In addition as shown in, Table 3.12, bridewealth exchanges were open ended since the conflict. People in Nyadar suggested that this was a new state of affairs compared to before the conflict when exchanges would be made in one transfer. In this way bridewealth debts created new patterns of cooperation between households; there were closer relations between affines in the name of unfinished bridewealth. A son-in-law would contribute labour or crops in the name of unfinished bridewealth. The ambiguity of bridewealth debts which are kept open is in itself an important resource for household labour, agriculture and economic strength.
It is important to note that the monetarisation and negotiation of bridewealth cannot solely be attributed to the conflict. Nagashima (1985: 184) collected data of 122 bridewealth exchanges amongst the Iteso of Kenya. The exchanges represented marriages established from the 1920’s to the 1970’s. The data reveals two distinct trends. First, although the number of cattle used in the transfer remained constant, from the 1930’s the Iteso of Kenya used substantial amounts of money as a supplement to cattle in bridewealth. Nagashima’s informants suggest that this trend occurred as more people were drawn into waged labour and as aspects of parents ‘keeping’ a girl child (for which bridewealth was seen as a compensation) became monetarised such as in the provision of school fees. Second, from the 1940’s onwards, bridewealth transfers changed from a payment paid at one point in time to a protracted series of payments as is common in other cattle keeping societies (e.g. Almagor 1978: 187). Whilst such data does not exist for the Iteso of Uganda, it might be accurate to suggest that the conflict has exaggerated, rather than initiated, a trend of increasing negotiation over bridewealth.
Never-the-less the negotiation over bridewealth is made increasingly important by the situation of post war impoverishment. Murray (1981: 148) has discusses how Lesotho migrant labourers invest in bridewealth transfers as a way of maintaining rights in land and homes whilst living away from them. As in Nyadar the custom
164 of bridewealth is retained as a means for long term financial negotiation and security under insecure financial conditions.
Third, there has been an individuation in the accumulation of bridewealth. With a desire to make a bridewealth marriage in order to establish their own home young men could sometimes rely on a contribution from their father from a sister’s bridewealth. As frequently though, with a loss of familial cattle held by their fathers, they turned to their own financial efforts and forged relationships with friends or relatives in order to gather bridewealth.34 These efforts will be discussed in the following chapter.
165 Table 3.11 Bridewealth payments demanded for 35 marriage unions from Otela village.
Decade in which Amount of bridewealth Acquired marriage occurred demanded from 1940s 19 cows, 7 goats Father Average no o f cows 19 1950s 25 cows Father 6 cows Agriculture 17 cows, 6 goats Father 22 cows Father 20 cows Father 11 cows, 1000/= Marriage of daughter Average 17 1960s 3 cows, 4 goats Sister 9 cows 1 plough Father 25 cows Father 13 cows, 1 goat Father 13 cows, 3 goats Father 5 cows Sister Average 12 1970s 15 cows, 1 goat 200/= Cattle trade 15 cows, 8 goats, 30/= Father 10 cows, 4 goats Father 8 cows, 5 goats Sister Average 12 1980s 5 cows, 10 000/= Rebel activity 5 cows, 5 goats Sister 10 cows, 6 goats, 1000/= Sister 9 cows, 6 goats Father Average 7 1990 See Table 3.12 200 000/= below 1 cow, 200 000/= 4 cow 6 cows, 4 goats 2 cows, 4 goats 4 cows 4 cows, 120 000/=, 7 goats 1 cow, 12 goats, 10 000/= 5 cows 2 cows, 5 goats, 40 000/= 3 cows, 5 goats, 45 000/= 2 cows, 6 goats, lmillion/= 4 cows, 6 goats 5 cows, 4 goats, 100 000/= Average 3.5
166 Table 3.12 the status of post war bridewealth in Otela village
Year Bridewealth paid How acquired Amount Married outstanding 1991 5 cows, 4 goats, 2 cows and 4 goats from 100000/= marriage of sister, 3 cows from looting, 100 000 from business 1992 200 000/= marriage of sister 1993 1 cow marriage of sister 200 000/= 1994 4 goats business 6 cows 1994 100 000/= business/agriculture 5 cows, 3 goats 1994 2 cows, 4 goats selling rice (illegitimate son) 1994 1 cow father 3 cows 1994 1 cow, 120 000/=, 7 marriage of sister 3 cows goats 1994 12 goats, 10 000/= marriage of sister, money 1 cow from agriculture 1994 5 cows marriage of sister 1996 2 cows marriage of sister 5 goats, 40 000/= 1996 3 cows, 6 goats 1 cow from marriage of 1 cow sister, rest from agriculture 1996 1 cow, 5 goats, 45 000/= business 2 cows 1996 2 cows, 6 goats marriage of sister via 1 million /= mother’s brother (illegitimate son)
Fourth, there is an increase of alternative household and kinship arrangements; separated couples, pre marital pregnancy and women who bear their children at home exploiting access to land and resources in the name of their fathers or mothers. The dialectic, the mutual constitution, of marriage ideals and economic impoverishment in the context of post war reconstruction means that new and negotiated forms of marriage and bridewealth emerge. Homes are developed and founded in ways that continue old forms with new bases.
FEMALE HEADED HOUSEHOLDS
The most striking of these new forms of household organisation is in the prevalence of female headed households both in Oditel and Nyadar. In Oditel 49
167 out of 132 households (37%) were female headed. In Otela 13 out of 52 households (25%) were female headed. Although it is increasingly argued that female headed households hold long standing significance throughout Africa (Moore 1988: 63) it would seem that the proportion of female headed households in Nyadar has been significantly raised by the impact of the conflict. This relates both to the loss of husbands in the war and concomitant increase of widows, and to the breakdown in family structures that often coincides with situations of impoverishment and rapid social change (Kilbride & Kilbride 1990: ix, Turshen 1998: 20). Wallman (1996: 228) has found a similarly high proportion of female headed households in slum settlements in Kampala swelled by numbers of refugees after the years of conflict in Uganda.
There are three factors contributing to the increase in female headed household in Nyadar. The first is the seeming decline of the practice of ‘levirate’ marriage; inheritance of a deceased man’s widow by his brother (Lawrence 1953: 230). The majorities of cases of levirate marriage in Nyadar had occurred before the war and were amongst older couples. Younger generations argued that it was neither financially viable after the war nor safe in the context of the Aids epidemic to continue to the practice of levirate marriage.35 Thus widows who would have formerly been inherited by their husband’s brother now live as single women, often with children, on their former husbands land.
Second, it was particularly noticeable that many of the young women in Nyadar who had been the subject of mass rape and sexual abuse during the conflict and had had children as a result of this, was now living as a single mother. During the years of the insurgency when the people of Nyadar had all been living in Oditel, there had been a barracks of soldiers guarding the camp. Many young girls were taken to provide sexual services for these men and were left to bring up their children once the soldiers moved on. The testimony of one women who went through these appalling experiences is given in Chapter Six.
168 Third, amongst the women with whom I talked in Nyadar, both widows and unmarried mothers, there seemed to be awareness that, since after the conflict and the loss of herds, they had as much potential as men for economic autonomy and success. They saw setting up a female-headed household was a way of maintaining this success for themselves and their children rather than having it ‘stolen’ by husbands. As Amoding Mary a 23 year-old mother of two living in Oditel stated during on group discussion of young women on this subject:
“The disadvantage of marriage is like this; men are like a kind of sponge. They go to drink and never think of their wives, they buy themselves many types of things but never so much as a dress for their wife. It’s especially a problem if you are an educated girl and you are employed. The husband will want your certificates written in his name and sometimes he will go to sign for your salary. This will deprive you of your right of pay and in most cases all the pay will go to his relatives leaving out the girl’s relatives.”
Amoding Mary, 23, Oditel, 17.5.97
It was noticeable that all the women in employment in Oditel, as nurses or teachers, were single mothers, living in their own households. They expressed sentiments echoed in the interviews conducted by Bennet et al (1995: 108) amongst women in post-war situations throughout Uganda, where women stated, for example, “experience shows that most boys [and] men have become hopeless...[after the fighting ceased] since the man continued with his irresponsible life, I found there was no point in keeping him so we separated.” Living alone as single mothers seems to be a choice that more and more women are making in Nyadar. Yet this choice is not without regret; whilst in Nyadar women spoke of similarly strident decisions to remain economically independent they also spoke wistfully of marriage and long term relationships and regretfully of the loss of former husbands and lovers.
There are three main sets of resources that these single women have used in order to create a livelihood for themselves. First, whilst single widowed women use the
169 resources of their former husband’s the young unmarried mothers have used the resources of their parents. The young women often live in their parents’ home. They work on the gardens of their parents and thereby lay claim to the granaries of the household in order to feed their children. The young women also use the land of their fathers to establish their own gardens of food for sale, thereby raising the cash needed for their children’s clothes, school fees and medical requirements. The links between a young woman and the members of her natal home were often strong and cooperative. Mother’s enjoyed having an older daughter around to assist in cooking for their household, married brothers living on their father’s land often helped their unmarried sisters with the heavier agricultural tasks and developed close relationships with her children. Where I did see tension in these relationship it occurred between a single-mother daughter and her step mother, who accused her of diminishing the household’s resources through having to cater for her father-less children. In one case where this tension occurred the young woman took her children and went to live with her grandmother in another compound, in another the young woman left the village and went to work in the shop of her aunt in Soroti.
Second, young women have made full use of the opportunities presented to them through the business of alcohol, as discussed above. For married women brewing and selling alcohol is a way of achieving some degree of financial self reliance within the household situation where it is incredibly difficult for them to lay access to their husband’s cash. For the unmarried mothers of the war, brewing beer is a resource by which they can mange the financial difficulties of catering for children.
Third, many of the unmarried mothers of Nyadar have made use of the new geo social pattern of life. By living in Oditel, the new flourishing trading center, they do not rely on the resources of their parents to make a livelihood but find a better market for their beer or diversify into selling cooked food at the hotels, especially on market days.
170 In this way, women in Nyadar cope with the economic and social consequences of life as unmarried mothers. They make use of the structural possibilities afforded to them; niches in their relations with their parents, in the financial rewards of beer brewing and in the new layout of social life in Teso with the burgeoning trading centres. In so doing they take up the social position of the ‘solitary woman’ in Teso society. This is by no means a new social phenomenon in Teso. From her fieldwork in Teso in the 1970’s Vincent (1988) remarked on the occurrence of women were choosing to live alone and were financially independent of a husband. In her data, however, solitary women were widows past child bearing age, this is not the case for many of the ‘solitary women’ of Nyadar who are young unmarried mothers.
These young women continue to have sexual relationships with men and to bear children. Their behaviour complies with another trend noticed by Vincent (1988: 215); the sexuality of unmarried men and women is given virtually free rein in Iteso society. Relations between lovers, known as apapero relationships, are relatively egalitarian. They are marked by the provision of gifts from the man to his lover and this is another way in which unmarried mothers secure financial provision for themselves and for their children. Women retain a good deal of freedom in these relationships. Not only do they have license to refuse the advances of men who wish to become their apapero, they can also exercise the choice not to marry but to remain as a man’s friend. In these apapero relations the unmarried mothers enjoy a different kind of sexual partnership than their married contemporaries.
The increasing proportion of women living alone, economically independent of a husband, are engendering new tensions over the role of the sexes. Men in Nyadar saw this as a worrying state of affairs. They complained about the undermining of an Iteso ‘way of life’ through the rejection of patriarchal principles. These tensions are expressed in the frequent abuse of unmarried mothers as ‘prostitutes’ and as those who spreading Aids throughout the society. This resonates with the picture Allen has painted of the north of Uganda (1997). There tensions over patterns of
171 social change in a post-war society have been embodied in violence against women. Women have been attacked in bloody and horrific ways. Allen sees them as being made into community scape goats for the tensions at work in the society.
In Nyadar violence against women worked within the parameters of the household and took the form of domestic violence of husbands against wives. Again this is a trend Vincent noticed in the 1970s. Her research notes a high level of domestic violence. This was almost always perpetrated against married women be her husband and involved disputes over their sexuality, for example a man killing his wife because she went to eat in the house of another man. She argues that under the impact of colonialisation and subsequent political-economic change families in Teso have become much more nuclearised and the influence of the wider clan lessened. In this context, she suggests, control over female sexuality becomes much more tense and important. The women in a nuclear home are relatively more important to the overall production of the home. This importance has led to tension over wives who show any signs of transgressing the boundaries of their husbands control over their sexuality. This tension is expressed through violence.
It seems that the tensions in present day Iteso society about the increasing number of female headed households are played out in spiraling violence of husbands against their wives. If more and more women are choosing to live as unmarried mothers, denying the importance of a husband for access to land and resources then it becomes even more important for men to exert control over the sexuality of those women who have become wives and who are crucial to the reproduction of their household. In Lucy and William’s home where I lived there was a constant stream of Lucy’s young female relations who were seeking refuge from the violence of their husbands. There was a striking contrast between the position of these young married women and the unmarried mothers who enjoy relative freedom and affection in their contemporary sexual relations with men. In present day Iteso society it is young married women who seem most vulnerable to violence and to bear the brunt of the tensions engendered through the rising proportion of female headed households.
172 There is no more clear indication than in the rise of these female headed households and the tensions they create in gender relations, that post-war recovery in Nyadar involves processes of change from what is generally held as the ‘way of life’ of Iteso society within the household. It also indicates that the processes of post-war recovery can hold different priorities and directions for different groups of people; very different for the unmarried mother setting up her independent household to a young man who relies upon and needs a wife for the generation and reproduction of his household. These divergent paths find expression in the tension and violence between the sexes within a household.
It appears that this divergence will carry on into the next generation. For the marriage strategies for members of female-headed households in Nyadar were often different from those of male headed households. In some cases the household was incorporated into decisions made by a male lineage head or, in the case of a widow, her brother-in-law or an older son. The extent to which they were depended on the strength of character of the women and inter-personal relations between her and members of her husbands or fathers lineage. However it was common for the son of a widowed or unmarried woman to seek the counsel of an older brother or his mothers brother - mamai, in marriage affairs; passing beyond the authority of his female relations to that of men in issues of kinship. In contrast a female household head had considerably influence over the marriage choices of her daughters. It was common for a mother to actively advise her daughters against marriage, encouraging her to have relationships with men but to continue living at home and to bear children there.36 For the purposes of household recovery, female headed households relied upon the labour and presence of grown daughters. Beyond the authority of a male household head, women reworked kinship into alternative and viable patterns. Consequently the post-war recovery of households under female management followed different trajectories than household reconstruction under the norm of male control. KINSHIP RELATIONS BEYOND THE HOME:
173 RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN HOUSEHOLDS AND LINEAGE IN RECOVERY
As stated above, the commitment to a household always outweighed the commitment to a lineage, ateker, in Nyadar. Members of a lineage were, however, mobilised in the consultations that lead up to bridewealth payments and in the apportioning of land. In addition it was a widely held ideology in Nyadar that lineage responsibilities should be mobilised in cases of loss. Levirate marriage was given as example of such obligations. There was also an implicit understanding that wealthier members of a lineage had a responsibility to their poorer relations. Whilst these assumptions might have been ignored in practice prior to the conflict, they were the source of considerable tension in the post war situation of Nyadar where it was more than enough for a household head to cater for the members of the household out of the situation of poverty. Requests for help made to an elected lineage head were constantly avoided and undermined in the name of ichan, ‘suffering/poverty’.
Case Study
The case study refers to a lineage, as illustrated by Figure 3.1 whose members were resident in Oditel and Nyadar. It reports the relations conducted between the elected lineage head, Biglio Opolot (aged 50), and other members of the lineage throughout the year 1997. It shows a concern with kinship relations still to be reconstructed after the war as well as the unwillingness of the lineage head to commit the little excess finances he had after the conflict to dissipation throughout the lineage.
1. Biglio’s biological father was his social uncle; Biglio’s social father had failed to produce a child and had asked his brother to have a child on his behalf with his first wife. Biglio was therefore a half sibling with those he regarded as his cousins, T7 and felt that he owed them familial responsibility not only as the lineage head but as their older brother. The greatest preoccupation Biglio had from the family of his biological father (called Oluka) was a land dispute. One of Oluka’s
174 Figure 3.1: Lineage of which Biglio Opolot is lineage head
A = 0
A = 0 1 = < = A = O 0=1 0 1II 0,0 1------' | - 175 6 ----- II- II O > o A =f 0 2^ = = l ‘=jO d ' t A d U > lt> HI o 1 o 11 ,^ t O “II 1
A 0 = A AO1 0b A1 L0 A 1 A A A O A A cTTc A A t 0 A 0 ApO A VI I
0 A A A A A A A
A Man O Woman A Part of original move to Nyadar A Elected Lineage Head A No longer living in Nyadar A Dead wives had moved to another part of Teso after Oluka’s death. The other remained in Oditel, living in the permanent house in Oditel built by Oluka. Whilst she remained in Oditel another, unrelated, family had re-settled on the land of Oluka in Nyadar. The procedure for taking this family to court, hoping for their eviction, was Biglio’s responsibility. In 1997 he attended two meetings with the LC2 on this issue.
2. In 1997 Biglio’s younger half brother/cousin, Paulo, approached him to request help in paying the fine that had been imposed upon him because his girlfriend had become pregnant He had decided that he wanted to marry the girl as well as pay the fine. Paulo had negotiated a bridewealth of one plough and 120 000/=. Biglio decided not to contribute anything. Although the boy’s father was dead Biglio felt that Paulo should first rely upon his older full brothers.
3. In January 1997 Biglio held a meeting for all the members of the lineage living in Nyadar. The matter under review was the unpaid bridewealth of his half sister/cousin Florence. Florence had had a relationship with a soldier in Oditel camp during the war. She had had three children with the soldier and after the war had gone to live with him in his home village in Busia, eastern Uganda. Later her sister, who was unmarried and already had a child, had gone to visit her and had started a relationship with a man there. She became pregnant. The news reached Oditel in early 1997. Biglio called the meeting to propose that he and his half brothers/cousins should go to Busia to negotiate a bridewealth for the two sisters. Each male member of the lineage was asked to contribute 5 000/=, each female member 2 000/=, towards the traveling expenses. Biglio went to Busia with three of his half brothers/cousins. They were offered one bull by the former soldier for Florence’s bridewealth. Biglio and his brothers decided that this was not enough. They ordered Florence and her sister to return to Oditel. Florence left behind her three children with the soldier. Her sister had a miscarriage back in Oditel. Biglio used his friendships with teachers in Oditel primary school to get Florence a job there. She was not paid, however, and continued to resent the interference of the lineage in her affairs.
4. Biglio’s cousin had died during Karamjong raiding in 1981. Biglio had been asked then to take his widow as a second wife and to cater for her son by the other male members of the lineage. Biglio decided that he did not want another wife. He therefore allowed his cousin’s widow to live independently on her former husband’s land. She since had five more children though never remarried. In 1997 Biglio was approached by her asking to contribute school fees for one of her sons to which he agreed.
5. Biglio’s only aunt had had one child, a daughter. After the war Biglio asked this cousin, Janet, if she and her husband would like to stay on part of Biglio’s land since there was so much unused. Janet agreed and came to stay with her three children. In 1997 Janet’s husband asked Biglio to back him financially in the LC1 elections. Biglio refused since he was supporting another friend as a candidate.
176 6. The children of Biglio’s real cousin were orphans, their father Culbert, having died in 1992 whilst living as refugees in Moroto. Whenever he could Biglio supported this family with food. He often found casual labour amongst his friends for the eldest son, James, who was a builder and who was in the process of paying a bridewealth. Biglio often asked Culbert’s widow to labour on his fields for which he gave her money. In 1997 Biglio found and negotiated a permanent job for James building new class rooms in Oditel primary school however he refused a request of James for help in finishing to pay his bridewealth.
7. Biglio was approached by further orphaned relations for continual support. Their father had been shot by soldiers in the camp. One of the girls had severe mental illness. During 1997 she became pregnant and the child died a few weeks after birth. Her mother asked Biglio to take the girl for medical treatment in Soroti. Biglio said that he was not able to. In practice these children often ate in the Biglio’s home and he gave them small amounts of money.
A position as head of a lineage opens a man up to claims from those beyond his immediate family. In a context of post-war poverty, lineage claims were negotiated along side the needs of the family. Biglio had three children at school. His concern was for their education and he chose to, channel his resources into their employment future rather than into the bridewealth of other members of the lineage who, as fatherless sons of the lineage, felt they had a right to his support. There was a concern to tie up loose kinship ends in the lineage evident in the trip to Busia for bridewealth negotiations and in practice much inter-household labour - aleya, aipakas and aitub acocor - was organised through lineage relationships. However for young men in the lineage they were as likely to acquire bridewealth through their immediate family and own financial efforts as through lineage membership.
The claims to support from a lineage are likely to have been as contested and negotiated previous to the conflict as after. Ulmagor (1978: 65) has detailed the complicated and various claims upon a household herd amongst the Dassanetch where cattle were plentiful. Yet in Nyadar such negotiations have been compounded by the conflict; the loss of family herds has meant that the resources available are greatly diminished.
177 It was noticeable throughout that Biglio always justified the decisions he made not to assist members of his lineage and his reduced agency in these relations, with explanations of ‘poverty/suffering’ - ichan. For him the loss entailed in the conflict explained the patterns of kinship in the present. Later in 1997 Biglio and his family moved out of Nyadar back to their village lands. Biglio explained that it was becoming too burdensome to live amongst his kinsfolk in the camp and he needed to concentrate on the development of his ‘home’.
LOSS AND REUNIONS
The ‘poverty/suffering’ - ichan that has affected homes in Nyadar is the loss of material resources. This loss has consequences for the processes of recovery both economic and familial. It has also been the loss of family members. Werbner (1991) has chronicled the post war experience of an extended family in Bango Zimbabwe. In Bango, as in Nyadar, there were deep emotions of commitment to the family and to the home. During the war members of the family had died in violent ways. The families’ grief was compounded by the loss of valuable members who would have made vital contributions to the recovery of the home in the post war period. Werbner describes a revival of ancestor cults in the area as family members sought to appropriate their grief through the possibility of communicating with their dead relations (1991: 191).
In Nyadar people claim not to seek the dead but to have been sought by them. As will be discussed in Chapter Seven, there were reports of cases after the fighting in which people had dreams and had been possessed through which the dead and unburied appeared to their relatives and showed them where their bones lay so that they could be taken for burial on home lands. In voicing their concerns through possession or dreams, ancestors express a desire for their bodily integrity to be maintained within the home. In acting upon such prompts their descendants ensured that past members of the family, victims of the war, would too be included in the post-war recovery of homes.
178 People in Nyadar also remember the dead through the living. They said that children bom into a home since the war were given by God to replace those who died. And so the ideology of the home, which is based upon connections between past, present and future members, upon a hope for perpetuation and development, serves to incorporate the devastating personal loss of war.
Yet the replacement of those who have died with children is never acknowledged as complete. In Nyadar the loss of an adult member of a household is the loss of a key anchor in economic and kinship processes. It is a loss negotiated by the remaining members, often the orphaned young. The loss is of potential economic and kinship agency for those who remain. It is also a loss of identity, a profoundly emotional and traumatic one. One young boy, James Ongoria, aged 14, had had both his mother and father killed by rebels. During my time in Nyadar he lived with his grandmother put it. He was often at my door in Oditel, asking to borrow my tape recorder in order to tell his life story and requesting English lessons. His grandmother hadn’t the money to send him to senior school and so he insisted on going back to the top class of the primary school to repeat his lessons of last year in the love of learning. He gave the following description of his life:
“Because mother and father are the ones who support children, if there is not a mother and father you are not a real child. The brothers of your parents will also avoid you; you are not known. You are just like a little dog, you have nothing; you are defeated. If mother and father are there then you are a person, but if not you can even fail to have a hen. You are not a person at all. If you are living with your father and he sends you somewhere you go with a glad heart. But if your father is not there all the people send you everywhere without a rest. What I want is a mother and a father. When there are there you do not move aimlessly where you can easily get involved with death. When you have a father he can advise you. If you grow cassava he can advise you that “You sell that cassava and go to school” but now when I grow my cassava people are jealous and they can steal everything from me.”
James Ongiro, 14, Oditel, 14.11.97
179 As a ‘home’ the household is more than the site of production and reproduction. The home is a locus of identity and ‘life’ for its members. It is a network of relationships, relationships that bear the responsibilities and possibilities of production and reproduction and thus constitute an identity of self. The death of a household member is said to ‘break the home’ - amunare ekek, and involves the loss of persons who hold the processes of home and identities of others together. Processes of post-war recovery in the household involve regenerating and recommitting to the development processes of the home and coming to terms with such losses. Together the processes of post-war recovery in the household work to realign and stabilise a key locus of ‘life’; for the home is a nexus of self identity and effectiveness. Hence the great celebrations when members of a family were reunited after the war. During 1997 there were two such instances. Both were NRA soldiers who had delayed in returning to Teso, fearing an antagonistic reception. Their families had thought them dead. Over the days of reunion the chants of home, the ‘pride’ - aiwo, extolling the predecessors who had moved to Nyadar and the relationships of lineage and home, were constantly repeated.38
CONCLUSION
People in Nyadar recognise that over the years since the end of the war they have established a ‘return to life’ in their homes and families. This ‘return to life’ is expressed in the ‘beauty’ of homes re-furnished with goods and livestock and is evident in the effectiveness that people have in processes of economic regeneration and kinship transactions. People in Nyadar have negotiated the impact and loss of the conflict and through this have not just re-established their households in socio-structural terms but as ‘homes’, as the locus of identity and perpetuation holding together relations of the past, present and future. Through this they have restored processes at the heart of the reproduction of a ‘way of ‘life.
To what extent are the processes of recovery in homes in Nyadar a reconstruction of previous cultural praxis? On the one hand many of the economic and kinship processes within the household in the post-war period show consistency with
180 those prior to the conflict. First, the household is still given priority over other wider kinship groupings, indeed this tendency has been consolidated in the climate of impoverishment. Second, there is commitment to bridewealth transactions, a commitment that was conserved during the conflict. Third, people in Nyadar have returned to their home lands, rebuilt there and there has been heavy reliance on agriculture as a basis of economic regeneration. Thus there is semblance of the ‘way of life’ that people in Nyadar enjoyed unto the years of war.
On the other hand, within these patterns of consistency, there is evidence of the impact of the conflict, of change and innovation. Prior to the conflict marriage transactions and the social reproduction of the household was predicated upon the family herd. In the present, with the loss of such herds, there is increased reliance on monetarised processes of trade or labour for accumulation. The basic resource in such an economy is no longer agricultural cash crops but food crops. The growth of Oditel camp stands in testimony to a new topography of social life with business and trade at the heart of it. Bridewealth accumulation is increasingly monetarised and individualised. Whereas prior to the loss of cattle the family herd stood as a pre-existing bank of wealth, now cattle are more fused into monetarised processes of accumulation and distribution. Young men face the depletion of resources of their households and lineage. The composition of Oditel also stands witness to the increasing variance of household formation, contrary to ideologies of male household heads and the support offered by members of patrilineal lineage.
In other words for many, though their homes may have recovered, their ‘life’ will never be the same again. Those who have lost the wealth of herds, children who have lost parents, those who remain in Oditel for reasons of contested kinship, women who set up independent homes, wives who have lost husbands, face a very different present and future from one they might have anticipated in the past. Whilst the paucity of the pre-war ethnography of life in Teso makes it difficult to be exact about such changes, change is evident to people in Nyadar and is at the root of many tensions in the society. Many people feared for the changing
181 structures of family life and kinship. Men bemoaned the fact that bridewealth levels had decreased opening marriage to instability. Whilst they valued the initiatives of young men in acquiring bridewealth and the growth of trade and business by the young, they looked with pessimism upon the increased number of female headed households. Such fears were articulated in the light of the Aids epidemic. Many men characterised single mothers as ‘prostitutes’ and spreaders of the disease, threats to their homes. In Nyadar, as throughout rural areas in Uganda, the Aids epidemic, leveling in urban areas, is increasingly coming ‘home’ to villages. In Nyadar noticeable numbers of the young and successful, those who had experienced ‘life’, were dying of the disease.
Such threats to the home in Nyadar were threats to the functioning of the household and to the identity and health of its members and were viewed with deep concern. For they heralded further loss of the home as the seat of integrity and health, of normal mental functioning and reproductive potential, of ‘life’ itself. And whilst older people in Nyadar recognised that the condition of ‘life’ had improved in homes since the conflict, they also saw their children growing up in conditions very different from before the war. They were in the process of creating and responding to new ways of life.
182 I Throughout Teso the lineage - ateker, has stronger structural influence on social life than the clan, also ateker. Clans amongst the Iteso are exogamous with clan taboos associated with eating and childbirth (Lukyn 1936). The pre-colonial ethnographic role of the clan for the Iteso is discussed in Appendix 1. Both the lineage and the clan have a less important social role than the home, oree, and family, ekel, as discussed below. The kinship terminology of the Iteso is given in Appendix 2. 2The initial acquisition and subsequent holding of land was rarely formalised. I met only one man in Nyadar who had legal deeds stating the circumference of his land. Otherwise land was claimed through common agreement, both between and amongst lineages, with reference to the historical patterns of settlement and memories of how plots had been apportioned. At the time of fieldwork few of these claims were disputed for much of the land lay fallow and unused with access far outweighing the means to cultivate it. There were, however, two land disputes in Nyadar at the time of my fieldwork. These were arbitrated at the L.C.3 level. One was the case, described below, in which a Karamojong had settled on land during the conflict. The second involved a man who had not lived in Nyadar prior to the conflict but had settled on land there following return from the camp. He claimed that the land where he settled belonged to his father’s lineage. Another lineage claimed that it was their land. Difficulty arose from the fact that since settling on the land the man’s father had died and had been buried there. The man used this grave as indication of his claim. The case is still to be resolved at the time of writing. Subsequent to fieldwork one of the major issues on a national level in Uganda has been the formalisation of land title. It will be interesting to assess how this formalisation impacts on the informal nature of land distribution in Nyadar in future. 3 Other permutations included households incorporating the children of one of the married partners bom outside the union around which the present household is constructed, female headed households, household with the parents of the conjugal partner, households where a young married son has not yet built his own home, households with grandchildren, polygamous marriages spread over two households etc. 4There are ten villages in the parish of Nyadar. Each village is a LC1 unit, the parish being an LC2 unit. All the household data in this chapter is taken from one sample village in Nyadar called Otela with a population of 54 households, approximately 250 people. Details of all the information collected in this survey are given in Appendix 3. 5See Plate 5, p. 107. There is on average 300 to 500 meters between households. ( Survey o f an Iteso village CHIPS 1993). 6 The verb amanyit, ‘to marry’ means ‘to marry with cows’. ’Rebuilding homes was a process that usually began in November and culminated in March (see below). For the purposes of this table I have used the year in which preparations culminated, i.e. the March of that year even if the move was initiated in November of the previous year. 8At the time of fieldwork there were 54 households in Otela village. According to this data the number of households in the village in 1989 prior to movement into Oditel was 48. Although some households have not returned since the war, the number has been raised by the large number (14) of new households established since the conflict. See map, Plate 16. 9 As mentioned in Chapter Two the CMR in the camps had been high with the number of deaths from dysentery and cholera and far outweighed the number of deaths through fighting: Teso Relief Committee Report 1990. 10This was bom out during my fieldwork. In five disputes taken to the parish chief in Nyadar that involved drunken violence, only one had occurred in a village. The rest had occurred in Oditel. II Buildings were often rented out to students of the secondary school in the neighbouring parish to Nyadar, Achumet Secondary School. This was the only secondary school in the Sub County and drew pupils from the whole district. It had no boarding accommodation. Houses were rented for 3000/= a month. (£1 = 2200 Uganda Shillings /=) 12 Again, see map, Plate 16 for the large number of new households established in Otela since the end of the conflict. 13 By subsistence I mean the provision of the bare necessities of food. There were times in the camp when people fell short of subsistence and were reliant on relief food. Though I am aware that for people who have been in such a situation the achieving of a state of dependable subsistence is in itself part of a ‘return to life’ here I take economic reconstruction to be something more than the achieving of such a state of dependable subsistence. I take it to be the regeneration of an ability to fund ‘life’. This is a monetarised ability and involves the acquisition of surplus cash to be able to
183 buy items. However this funding of ‘life’ is an open ended concept, at one end of the scale it is described by people in Nyadar as involving the ability to buy additional and various food stuffs from the market, those over and above subsistence items from household agriculture and livestock. At the other end of the scale it might involve being able to buy large consumer items such as mattresses, radios and bicycles or even more expensive the ability to fund a large party. In terms of subsistence it should be noted that household food is often supplemented by hunted meat and fish caught in local rivers and lakes. 14 Of the other permanent buildings, one was built by the Bugandan owner of the grinding mill, one for the collection of cotton by Asian traders and three by shopkeepers who were given a trading franchise under Obote II. 15Operational research on the situation o f family and community contexts in Uganda Oxfam 1993: 14. 16 Whyte conducted anthropological research amongst the Nyole of eastern Uganda in 1971. The population amongst whom he based his fieldwork were, like those in Nyadar, small-scale farmers with a kin based mode of production who relied, in 1971, upon cotton as the main way of earning money to support day to day living expenses. Whyte has charted the change of agriculture amongst the population with subsequent fieldwork in 1979 and 1987 and his findings reflect trends in kin- based household economies throughout Uganda. One clear pattern is in the type of agriculture practiced by fanners. Since 1971 the sale of cotton has ceased to be a source of income in Nyole. Instead Whyte found the Nyole population, as many others in Uganda who had been thrown back on their own resources, to have made the shift from cash cropping to a greater dependence on subsistence crops (1988: 130). There are clear historical and national politico-economic reasons that frame this shift. These include the vicissitudes of international markets for the main export crops of Uganda, cotton and coffee. However Mamdani (1976,1983) has gone further in suggesting have shown that the entire structure for cash crop export in Uganda was flawed in its organisation and ongoing effectiveness. Until Independence an Asian and European set of middlemen monopolised the sale and export of cash crops. These monopolies in cotton trading had been established by the colonial government in response to the fierce competition in cotton buying and processing. Competition favoured the growers but lessened capitalist profits. In response to the demands of British mill owners monopolies were introduced, barring the access of African traders to cash crop profits and reducing the gain to growers (Southall 1988: 56). After Independence the Asian middle class continued in influence to undermine African control of cash cropping, despite the abolition of controls over the cotton co-operatives. When Robertson conducted fieldwork in Buganda in the late 1960’s he saw government prices for cotton being under-cut by Asian traders, acceptable to the local farming population because the Asian middlemen would pay weekly in cash rather than giving credit slips as Ugandan middlemen did (1978: 154). The was little ground for local Ugandans to make noticeable profit from growing and selling cash crops. Amin’s expulsion of the Asians from Uganda in 1972 changed the situation with Africans taking full ownership of cotton ginneries and coffee processing plants. However adherence to the Price Marketing Board (PMB) introduced by Obote in 1968 hampered the profits that could be made by both growers and buyers by controlling prices. It encouraged trade on the black market (Nsibambi 1988: 140). In addition, as Amin’s ‘economic war’ continued, the transport and processing infrastructure for the success of both private and state cash cropping declined without renewal (Whyte 1988: 128). Parallel to the incapacity of the facilities for profitable cash crop sales and to the stagnation of government control over the economy was the increasing influence and strength of the ‘black- market’ in Uganda (Jamal 1991: 85). Even when the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP) initiated by Obote during his second period of office in 1981 freed the government handling of prices from the PMB restrictions, control and profit was in the hands of black-market traders. As many household economies turned back to subsistence agriculture anyway since the black-market favoured the growth for sale of food crops rather than the traditional cash crops. There was a deteriorating food situation in urban areas, a niche exploited by black-market entrepreneurs. They bartered foodstuffs from the rural areas for commodities in short supply in the villages. This trade became more and more lucrative. When Whyte returned to Nyole in 1979 he found that households had drastically reduced their cotton acreage and had either reverted to pure subsistence agriculture or had changed to growing the new food export cash crops; millet, bananas, rice and ground nuts.
184 All over Uganda food crops came to rival export crops as a source of income (Jamal 1991: 95, Brett 1991: 305) and household-based agriculture responded to this trend through the years of political instability. The second trend that Whyte noted was the investment in agriculture even by those members of the community that had access to other employment. The necessity of this is evident in statistics that show the price of basic foodstuffs in Nyole increasing x 1300 between 1971 and 1987. Meanwhile the cost of clothing increased x 1500, the cost of sugar x 15 000 and yet the wages of a primary school teacher increased only x 320. Inflation in the cost of living vastly outstripped inflation in wages earned. War, corruption, spiraling inflation, a quick succession of new regimes and currencies, a lack of government economic power meant that the Ugandan formal economy had all but collapsed in the period between 1971 and 1981 (Edmonds 1988: 99). In such circumstances, what Whyte observed in Nyole was happening all over Uganda; “[t]he agricultural economy is no longer seen primarily as something from which to escape; today it represents both security and a new kind of future.... a formal economy very nearly in ruins and a local, agricultural economy that appears to be dynamic and inventive” (ibid: 133). The free market of subsequent years only served to accentuate this. 17 Such work parties are common throughout Uganda (Mamdani 1992). In Nyadar, however, they seem to be more diffuse and less formalised than in other areas. Whilst there is reliance on aleya groups, their membership is often fluid and temporary. Where a group of people pooled their labour for a common agricultural venture the profits were shared amongst them individually rather than being retained as collective capital. In Nyadar principles of gain for individual household wealth overrode those for collective cooperation. 18 A group of eight labourers would cost 8 000/= for a days work. If paid with a beer party they would probably consume beer worth about 15 000/=. This figure does not take into account the time taken to brew the beer by female members of the household who would not necessarily consent to brew beer for a work party preferring to use the millet for their own personal sale of beer or for trade. 19 Mamdani’s (1992:200) research amongst rural households in the Lira district of Uganda also points to historical shifts in the inter-household organisation of labour. He notes that the decline of ‘traditional’ beer parties started with the colonial re-organisation giving some households, those part of the colonial infrastructure (for example the families of chiefs), greater opportunities for wealth creation. The differentiation was precipitated at a time of famine in the 1960s. Then there was an increase in the number of households unable to brew the beer needed to have access to a work party and concomitant differentiation between those households able to ‘host’ beer parties and those who were only able to be ‘hosted’. At the same time these poor households increased their reliance on individual labour for cash and on labour associations, pooling their labour both for work on their own gardens and on the gardens of wealthier households. The combined labour of work parties on the lands of wealthier household was as likely to be paid in cash as in beer.
185 20 It is difficult to give indicators for ‘wealth’ for households in Nyadar since incomes varied between seasons and with kinship transactions. However the following data of household income from three households in Otela, gives some indication as to the range of incomes in one month:
Table 3.4 Monthly Income of three households in Otela village
House Member Occupation Income per month Total hold Household income 1. HH Teacher Salary: 80 000/=, sale of crops: 120 000/= Wife Peasant Beer: 15 000/=, sale of crops: 30 000, sale of cakes: 20 000/= 265 000/= 2. HH Shopkeeper Profit: 130 000/=, sale of crops: 150 000/= Wife Peasant Beer: 20 000/=, Aipakas 5 000/=, sale of crops: 8 000/= 313 000/= 3. HH Peasant Sale of goat: 15 000, sale of crops: 20 000/=, aipakas 6 000/= Wife Peasant Beer: 25 000/=. Crops: 5 000/=, aipakas: 8 000/= 79 000/=
21 Many men lost significant amounts of money through this. One man, a shop keeper, invested 700 000/= in growing a large tract of rice. He rented the land, bought a good variety of grain, hired a tractor to plough the land and teams of labourers to weed and harvest. He gathered only seven sacks of rice worth 350 000/=. In 1996 he had made 1.2 million/= from the growing and sale of rice. 22 These drinking places were, until 1997, at the centre of the camp. In August 1997 after the worst of the months of El Nino a deputation was sent to Nyadar from the district offices in Soroti to make an assessment whether people would qualify for relief food. LC officials in Nyadar heard of this a week in advance. They proceeded to move all the beer drinking places away from the centre of the camp to a hidden comer on the edge behind some mango trees. The LCs reasoned that if the deputation came and discovered the population of Oditel drinking they would conclude that the population had sufficient money and did not need relief food. In moving the drinking places they hoped to hide them from view. In the event, the deputation came, found a noticeable lack of people drinking in the centre. Relief food was subsequently sent to Nyadar and distributed from the Catholic Mission. 23 See Plate 8. 24 One pick-up truck runs daily the 160km round trip from Kapelebyong, through Oditel to Soroti and back. It is owned by a man whose home is 30km south of Oditel and who works as a police officer in Kampala. The service operated intermittently throughout the war and was ambushed on three separate occasions. The driver of the truck is an immensely popular local figure who managed to avoid more serious attacks by negotiating his friendship with many from both NRA and rebel sides. 25 He felt unable to return to his previous shop due to resentment by much of the population there for his rebel activities hence he made the move the move to Oditel. He rents the front room of one of the original Oditel trading center buildings. The building was put up in 1937 by one of the largest cattle traders in Oditel who has since died. The son now owns the building and was himself a prominent UPA rebel, friendly with the shop keeper in question. 26 Goods such as mattresses, new clothes, soap, matches, cooking oil, paraffin, books, lanterns, pencils, plastic utensils, saucepans, wool were available in Oditel as well as food stuffs from other parts of Uganda such as maize flour and beans, salt, sugar and tea leaves. Cloth, radios, bicycles could still only be bought in Soroti. The goods were often imported from Kenya, bought wholesale in Kampala, resold by traders in Soroti to shop keepers from rural areas. 27 There is still today a certain type of plastic beaker which is nicknamed ‘Ilukor’ throughout Teso. This is the name of the Anglican bishop of Soroti who provided every family with such beakers through the worst of the camp conditions. 28 At the time of my fieldwork prices for these items were: mattress from 18 000/=, new radio from 21 000/=, second hand bicycle from 50 000/=, new bicycle from 75 000/=. These items were
186 chosen as reflecting the material items that people most often aspired to in expressing their ideas of a ‘beautiful’ home. 29 Throughout Teso there was a large markets of second hand clothes sent in aid programmes . When bought bales-full and sold them in the camps. It was customary for the head of a household to buy new clothes for his wife and children at Christmas. Otherwise clothes were bought by individuals. The second hand clothing on sale throughout Teso was jokingly referred to as ‘Bangladesh’. People explained that they felt as poor as people from Bangladesh in having to wear such clothing. 30 A Gomas is a traditional dress for women. It is of Bugandan origin and is worn on ceremonial occasions. 3‘Of these, two had been bought by men who were teachers, three by soldiers who sent their pay packets home to their fathers to buy a bicycle and two by men who were employed as labourers in the Catholic Mission. 32 This information should be taken as representative rather than completely accurate. Often other members of the village told me that the numbers of cattle quoted to me as lost was highly exaggerated. I relied on cross checking these figures amongst neighbours and kin of the men concerned. 33 The most frequent type of case concerned issues of violence, both domestic violence and drunken violence and the compensation by aggressors to victims. Notes for Table 3.11: The distinction made between ‘father’ and ‘sister’ here is one made by my informants. The indication of ‘father’ implies that the bridewealth came from the family herd of a father. Whereas the term ‘sister’ is used to denote bridewealth exchanges that occurred quickly after the marriage of a sister with the cattle staying for a short period of time in the family herd and being designated immediately for her brother’s marriage. It is interesting to note that the size of these exchanges is far greater than the limit placed upon them by colonial rule. Lawrence (1953: 202) suggests that during the 1950s this limit was five heads of cattle. Another discrepancy between this data and that given by Lawrence comes from his assertion that bridewealth was re-distributed by the wife-giver, the girl’s father to, in order of priority, his paternal aunt, his maternal uncle, his elder daughter, his elder brother and his father, keeping only one bull for himself. These re-distributions are an aspect of bridewealth exchange I have not particularly focused upon and would be worthy of further research. However people in Nyadar suggested that whilst small re-distributions (usually goats and one head of cattle) were made to the girl’s maternal uncle ( mamai), to her paternal grandmother (mother of her father) and her maternal grandmother (mother of her mother) the majority of the cattle stayed with the wife- giver, her father. For it was these cattle that entered his family herd and were used in subsequent brideweath payments for his sons. 34 For those marriages tabulated young men had tended to initiate bridewealth with a sister’s bridewealth cattle and had paid the balance through their own efforts. 35 Of three cases of levirate marriage amongst the younger generation that I knew of in Nyadar one involved the widow of a man killed by rebels in the conflict, taken on by his brother. A second involved a widow whose husband was killed by Karamojong. Her brother-in-law was a ‘saved’ Christian and felt it his Christian duty to care for her without sexual relations. The third involved two women from a polygamous union whose husband was killed by Karamojong. The younger wife was then taken in levirate marriage by the son of the elder widow. Later this man was killed by the NRA and the two widows set up their own home together. 36 These children bom at home outside marriage were referred to as iduwe lu oree, ‘children of the home’. 37 Both brothers and male cousins are known as onac, sisters and female cousins as inac. 38 Two examples of these chants are “ Oburiangor, Ingobai, Opalal, Aremiogwof\ this extols the home of a man who was the center of women’s interests ( oburiangor ), the home was so big that any food prepared would be eaten very quickly; people could drink beer before water was poured into it and eat a sauce before the bread was carried to the table ( ingobai), the man who founded the home in Nyadar was very rich/wet (< opalal) and he used to spear animals whilst standing (iaremiogwoi). “Engo apa olagar mukat. Mai moolo emedongot. Emong apesur, otautii. Ekalamu ajaret okalamu tau” which extols the home of a man with a loose shoe - his nickname olagar mukat, he, as a unique man, will continue to be praised in future - emedongot. He was the bull of girls - emong
187 apesur with a strong heart that can keep secrets - otau tii. His home is one that has earned a living from the pen -from education, ekalamu ajaret learning from the heart - okalamu tau.
188 Plate 7: AGRICULTURE
A mother and her sons sow ground-nuts.
An aleya group harvest millet.
err
The pick-up sets off on its daily trip from Soroti to Oditel
A shop-keeper in Oditel
Plate 8: TRADE
Ml 1<\Z. Plate 9 BEER
Preparing millet for brewing (above). Members of one lineage in Otela village at a beer party (below).
ns
Chapter Four YOUNG PEOPLE AND POST-WAR RECOVERY
In Vincent’s ethnography of life in Gondo, a trading center in west Teso (1968) she focuses upon one particular segment of Iteso society; the elite. She looks at the processes by which men gather the resources to achieve elite status. There are two particular points she makes about the elite in Gondo. First, the processes and resources men in Gondo use to become members of the elite are those located within a wider, specifically Iteso, way of life. The fact that the elite use resources and processes based in this wider way of life confirm it, to the extent that it overrides differences between ethnic groups in the community, despite promoting the rise of a separate class of people within that community. For example she shows how the rising elite manipulate agricultural work parties and affinal relations thereby promoting themselves at the same time as perpetuating these practices in the wider community. In other words, sociological division exists at the same time as socio-cultural coherence. Second, she argues that once the elite reach their achieved positions of big men in the community, they occupy a position that mediates both social change and cultural conservatism. They conserve a way of life within the community because this is what they rely upon to maintain their position but by being big men they also occupy offices of government administration and authority and respond to the wider national issues of Ugandan government. In Vincent’s view the elite articulate the perpetuation of a rural way of life with the historical changes of national formation.
In this chapter I focus upon a different segment of Nyadar society: the youth - itunanak1 Being a youth is, like being a member of the elite in Vincent’s study, an achieved status. As I will show later there are certain stages that have to be passed through in order to become a ‘youth’ and these stages are achieved through
195 processes in which young people must take an active part. Indeed the characterizations of what it is to be a young person in Nyadar stress the process of becoming an active person, a process that requires ‘hard work’ - epol aswam. As young people in Nyadar strive to become ‘youth’ they engage with cultural processes within their wider household and community thus perpetuating these processes. Once again there is sociological division within and dependent upon cultural coherence. Becoming itunanak in Nyadar means creating individual efficacy, ‘life’, within the bounds of a ‘way of life’ and it is this personal transition of creating ‘life’ for oneself centred on the household and family, that is at the very heart of the reproduction of the society, a ‘way of life’ as a whole.
Yet, with the conflict in Teso, the resources available for becoming itunanak have changed. This change has occurred in the material means that young people need to achieve the status of itunanank, most noticeable in the loss of cattle for the bridewealth of young men but also in phenomenological resources such as ‘knowledge’ - acoa, which I discuss below. In this chapter I focus upon how young people negotiate and deal with these losses while still managing to achieve the status of itunanak. I show that what they do to cope with these losses is innovative and has consequences of social change for the shape of Iteso cultural praxis. In this way I focus on the youth of Nyadar, rather than the elite of Vincent’s study, as articulating conservatism and change in the post-war environment. They conserve a ‘way of life’ through the goal of becoming itunanank but they both negotiate and create social change in the way they achieve that goal.
I have chosen to highlight the role of young people in post-war recovery because the violent past coincides with their childhoods’ and the desired future state of recovery coincides with their aims for adulthood. For them the link between past and present, between war and peace is their own personal process of growing up. They link the past and future with another present dynamic - being itunanak. And so their own ‘hard work’ of growing up becomes and shapes the ‘hard work’ of bringing ‘life’ out of the impact of the war in Nyadar whilst also being determined
196 by it. This gives itunanak an influence and potential at the heart of the post conflict society.
The profile of young people in the processes of post-war recovery was very much recognized by people in Nyadar during my fieldwork. High value is placed on the status of itunanank. This value has historical foundations for the continual migration and re-settlement throughout Teso was carried out by groups of young men. Those who first came to Nyadar were itunanak who left their parents behind. Young people are also valued on a more personal level by their parents and families, as a source of potential and hope. They are seen as people who guarantee the future of the ‘home’ oree through new generations of marriage and children and who, it is hoped, will honour their parents after their death through the recounting of stories and the upkeep of graves.
Since the end of the war the value of itunanak to wider family and social life has been increased. This value was articulated by Jokanna Ocham, a member of one of the first lineages to settle in Nyadar, as we sat one day in his home. With three children between the ages of 13 and 20 he commented on their struggles and importance:
“Young people are the pride of their parents, the hope of their fathers. When you see your daughter you see the cows she will bring into the home when she is married. When you see your son, you think “Yes, soon he will marry and set up his home here with his children”. Maybe your children go to school and they can get a job and support you in your old age. Then you think “Yes, I have my children, my future will be good.” I tell you, these days especially, we place our hope in our young people.”
Jokanna Ocham, 42, Nyadar, 3.3.97
It is thus for two reasons that I focus on young people in this chapter. First it follows the priority people in Nyadar themselves accorded to their itunanak.
197 Second, such a focus is also conceptually important for what it can reveal of the process of post-war itself. Being itunanak in Nyadar involves encountering key social institutions such as marriage and creating new households, and engaging with some key cultural principles. Members of households look to the movement of their young people toward these institutions as a future that insures the valued reproduction of both the ‘home’ and a wider ‘way of life’. By focusing upon young people who embark upon the processes of growing up in the post-war period, it is possible to analyse what is being conserved of those institutions and representations and the resources used in this conservation. At the same time it is possible to notice what is new or changed in principles of growing up and social reproduction and thus what the impact of the conflict has been. I therefore start by identifying the key stages and cultural representations that constitute what it means to be itunanak in Nyadar. I then look at the impact of the conflict in these terms and assess the ways in which people cope with that impact in the post-war period. The perspective is to place young people in Nyadar at centre of processes of cultural conservation but also of cultural contestation and transformation. If, as Stephens (1995: 23) suggests, we recognize that children and young people are creative participants in a society and are central actors in both reshaping and maintaining culture then the lives of young people in Nyadar in the post-conflict era can tell us much of the historical nature of a ‘way of life’ in the period as a whole.
THE LIVES OF YOUNG PEOPLE
Itunanak is a customary Itesot grouping that Lawrence (1957: 73) noted as being used to refer to boys between the ages of fourteen to eighteen. Today the term is used more loosely. I heard it used in conversation to refer to young people, both men and women, ranging from the ages of twelve until 30. In Nyadar people understood that young people were to be distinguished from children - iduwe, after reaching puberty. They would be referred to as itunanak until they themselves had a first child who reached puberty.4
198 As in other African societies what it means to be a youth in Nyadar involves processes of transition (Wilson 1951: 28; Heald 1998: 72). Those processes have particularity in time and place and are culturally and historically constructed. Here I draw out what it means to be itunanak in Nyadar. I do this by relying on what young people themselves told me about what they understood it to be itunanak. The two commentaries below were given in group discussions with young people about their lives. When people in Nyadar talked about what it is to be a young person they identified four major points along the path to adulthood. I also describe the points of becoming itunanak by what I witnessed during my time in Nyadar. I then move beyond this to see how these processes are understood through cultural representations of what it is to be itunanak.
“I will tell you what it is like to be a young man here in Teso. You grow mature from your father’s home and because you want to have a future, you must grow food from there. Then you ask your parents to marry a wife for you. When you marry your woman, you become two people and your father will find difficulty in keeping you both. So you will have to break off from the home of your father, because you can’t give that burden to your father any more. You and your wife stay with your parents for a short time so as to get enough food to make the separation. You ask your parents to give you some land where you can settle. Then you prepare a place for your wife and bring her there. You ask your parents to provide you with some properties like saucepans and plates, then you can go to stay with your wife. After all, your father has kept you from since you were young until you were mature, even marrying a wife for you. It is now time to break away.”
Aubulu Simon, 15, Nyadar, 4.12.97
“Being a young woman here in Nyadar is like this: you work in the home of your parents and you grow up loving your brothers and sisters and mother and father. You have your gardens and grow millet for brewing. Then when you marry you have to leave that home where you were bom and this is a very difficult thing. You can think alot, especially in those early days in your husband’s place because you do not know anyone. But slowly by slowly you get used to it and then you when you have children, you think more about those children than about your family back at home. You bring in the new generation and you
199 look at your children and think “Yes, this one looks like my mother” and “this one looks like my sister” and at last your heart is settled.”
Acam Florence, 17, Nyadar, 20.12.96
The four major points along the path to adulthood identified by young people in Nyadar were: managing one owns gardens, marriage, setting up an independent household and having children.
Managing One’s Own Gardens
Children in Nyadar work towards family agriculture from an early age. They accompany their mothers to the gardens and participate in lighter work such as harvesting, uprooting potatoes, separating groundnuts from the stems and searching for greens. Children work in the preparation of foodstuffs for storage, shelling groundnuts, peeling potatoes and cassava. From the age of eight children are active participants in most areas of agricultural work; weeding, planting and sowing. Boys are taught how to manage an ox plough usually by their fathers or older brothers.
During this time children of the home have gardens planted in their name by their parents. The implication is that the produce is sold and used specifically for the monetary needs of the child, which include clothes, schools fees or medical attention. As children of the household reach the age of twelve to fourteen they take responsibility for cultivating their garden and charge of spending the proceeds. They coordinate the labour, seeds and management required for the garden as well as contributing labour to the gardens of other members of the family. Young women most usually grow millet for brewing beer. Young men start with gardens of maize and later grow cassava or cash crops. As will be discussed below the gardens of young people have proved to be an essential recourse for their role in the post-war production and reproduction of their homes. Similarly Gibbs (1994: 271) has shown that young people’s access to such gardens and their contribution
200 in agriculture proves their resilience and potential as actors in post-war reconstruction.
The crops grown on their own gardens are the first link in a chain for economic gain for itunanak. They are used as basic items for trade through which young people, as in many other societies, begin to mediate the domestic economy and the wider market (c.f. Nieuwenhuys 1991 for young people in India). Reynolds (1991: xxviii) has shown how young Tongan people in Zambia pursue “an active direction of labour, strategies to maximise current needs and the establishment of relations that will yield maximum security.” Likewise young people in Nyadar acquire knowledge of productive forces and use that knowledge to their own advantage, expressing their own ability and effectiveness. Young women use the millet they grow and form groups for brewing beer with their sisters or friends. Both they and young men invest the money they gain from the trade of crops, in livestock. Out of the number of chicken, ducks, pigs and goats in a home a number will always be recognised as belonging to a specific young people. For those who are successful in animal rearing these livestock are prized possessions. The livestock are potential capital. From this point a young person has an economic foundation and a source of money. They can start to buy their own material needs, their own soap, sugar and clothes. They quickly start to make small gifts, monetary and material, to other family members, particularly younger brothers and sisters and often their mother. It is at this point that the ability to provide for oneself and others starts.
Marriage
All people in Nyadar who marry do so whilst they are itunanak. Marriage does not mark the end of being itunanak, there are those referred to as itunanak in Nyadar who are married with three or four children, but is an important point within the process of changing from childhood to adulthood.
Marriage is valued as the formal pre-requisite for having a home of one’s own. With marriage a young man can claim entitlement to part of his father’s land, a
201 young woman can move away from her fathers home and have children who will later have undisputed land access. Marriage is rarely seen, however, as the pre requisite for sexual relations. For young men, in particular, the acquisition of acoa n ’ailo, ‘sexual knowledge’, is an important part of the knowledge of growing up. Part of this knowledge, given to them by friends and brothers, is the knowledge of how to ‘woo’ - aisup, women with ‘sweet’ words. In the case of those who are literate, it is also the knowledge of how to write love letters. The other part of this knowledge is sexual experience.
The relationship between girlfriend and boyfriend are known as ‘friendships’ - apapero. These are relationships kept secret from the eyes of parents and adults. It is expected that such a relationship will be marked by small material and monetary gifts made from the man to the woman as a sign of love. When such a relationship is commonly recognised, either through the pregnancy of the woman or because the couple are seen living together, it is referred to as ‘concubining’ - epaupet. Epaupet is the name given to any formal sexual relationship outside marriage and assumes that the male partner contributes financially and materially to the woman and is responsible for the upkeep of any children of the union. It is the name given for partners who live together without having paid bridewealth, be that a relationship between a married man and another woman, not his wife, and whom he visits frequently, or a relationship between two unmarried young people. Those who are in such a relationship do not necessarily get married. If an unmarried woman becomes pregnant her parents demand a fine from her partner although sometimes she may keep his identity a secret for fear of reprisals.
A marriage is marked by the transfer, in part or in whole, of bridewealth; amanyit, ‘to marry [with cows]’. There are varying degrees to which parents of a young person have influence in the choice of their marriage partner. In some cases a young man transfers bridewealth for a girlfriend who is already pregnant with or has borne his child. In other cases a young man ask a woman to marry him without sexual relations between them and in other cases parents bring a young woman into the home for their son to marry. Before marriage a young man will have built a
202 house and a separate kitchen for himself and his wife into which they move after the ‘introduction ceremony’ has been held at the home of the wife’s parents.5 This house is often near the home of the man’s parents for the first few years of marriage.
A Separate Household
The physical separation, the breaking away - aboi bon (literally ‘living alone/away’), of homes is an important desire and step for young people. It is only on the death of his father, however, that a man receives formal acknowledgment as to where the boundaries of his land lie. Until then the logistics of setting up an independent home are various. Some couples may move away from the home of a husband’s parents soon after marriage, other may stay on or near to the home compound for many years, especially if the husband’s parents are elderly. In some cases sons will have purchased their own plots of land and will move to those. In other cases, where the land is particularly large in acreage and where there is a close relationship between brothers, they continue to hold the land as a joint pool. They sit and agree each new planting season where each household would like to cultivate. The gardens are cultivated in the name of members of separate households though brothers and their wives might form aleya groups for labour.
When a young couple moves to their own home away from that of the husband’s parents they often take one of their younger siblings or relations with them. It is rare to find a home, even a newly established one, without a younger child.6 The presence of children in a home is valued both for the assistance with labour that they provide and the companionship and amusement that they offer. It is seen as a way of distributing the upkeep of children around the unit of a former household and is particularly common where the child has lost either a mother or father. Some children continually oscillate between their parental and older siblings homes and contribute to the household agricultural labour of each. Where a couple does not have a younger sibling they turn to cousins. When it is known that the household of a relation is particularly poor, a richer related couple often invites one of the
203 children to live with them. These movements are seasonal with the child moving to the younger couple’s home for the agricultural season and moving back to their original home for the dry season and Christmas. To have a younger girl relation is particularly valued when a couple have their first young children, she acts as a child minder in lieu of an older female sibling to the infant who would usually take on this role.
Children
People in Nyadar consider that a marriage is only fully complete on the birth of a first surviving child. Until this time a married young women is referred to as apese, ‘girl’. A condition of childlessness is considered a great misfortune and is the source of much distress and anguish for both women and men.8 On the birth of a child, family and friends will remark to a couple, “It is good! Now there is someone to carry stones for your grave” - “ Ejok! Ejai ngesi aidiat amor n ’ates kon kwana”. This praise refers to the fact that, on burial, the first stone to be laid on a grave is customarily laid by the eldest child.9 The birth of a child is taken as a hopeful assurance for posterity and remembrance.
CULTURAL REPRESENTATIONS OF BEING ITUNANAK
The four points of managing independent gardens, marriage, a separate household and having children, are important stages in the process of being itunanak. Whereas each can be seen as a practical and material life stage each also holds phenomenological meaning, informed by ideological representations as to what it is to be a young person. Aries (1962) work on ‘childhood’ in the west shows how the concept developed historically with the creation of social spaces (in education, psychology and bureaucracy) through which the concept was actualised. These social spaces were informed by historical discourses as to the meaning of ‘childhood’. Likewise discourses and representations can be seen to give meaning to the social activities of ‘youth’ in Nyadar. Discourses of what it is to be a young person have power in forming ideas of identity as well as practice and frame all
204 experiences of being a young person. As James (1990: 25) states for children, so it is relevant for itunanak in Nyadar; “different discourses of childhood constitute childhood in social practice and institutions. Activities insert children into discursively constituted subject positions”.
In Nyadar the discourses that shape the lives of young people are representation which define the period of transition between being a child and being an adult, which take shape from ideas of childhood and adulthood, from ideas of ‘growing up’ - apolor, and ideas of ‘life’ itself. What it means to be an itunanak in Nyadar recognizes that this is a dynamic period in the life of any person between two other stages. The desires, expectations and activities of young people are framed by such representations.
From ‘kept’ to ‘keeping’
Theories of childhood in Nyadar are defined through understandings of what parenting entails. Central here is the word aisub. Aisub has a myriad of meanings which are given by context but altogether contribute to the conceptual package of parenting. First, aisub conveys a concept of ‘creation’. Children are ‘created’, aisubet, by their parents. In ‘creation’ there a sense of physical molding and shaping; a child is given initial form through the sexual relations of their biological parents, through the months of pregnancy. Thereafter a child is shaped through the materiality of relations between parents and child in food, drink and possessions.
The word aisub, ‘to create/form/mold’ also means ‘to resemble/look like/behave like’. Children resemble their parents because they have been created and formed by them. In addition aisub conveys a sense of sacrifice. In the creation and shaping of a child is a sacrifice of self or, more literally, a ‘displacement’ of self. And, as much as aisub means ‘to sacrifice’ and ‘to be displaced’, it also means ‘to finish off and ‘to remember’.10 People in Nyadar most frequently describe that in the creation of children they themselves have become complete, that their being is finished because they now had someone to carry their image and home into the
205 future. Lastly aisub means ‘to command/urge on/force away’; coupled with creation is a responsibility to the progress of a child. This progress is as much about retaining obedience to parents, as it is an encouragement to go their own way.
The other important concept in theories of childhood in Nyadar is that of ‘keeping’ - aidar. Parents ‘keep’ their children; parents provide for children materially and physically. Yet ‘to keep’ is not only to provide but also ‘to guard’, ‘protect’ and ‘to watch’. Aidar also contains a sense of anticipation; it means not only ‘to keep/guard/protect’ but also ‘to wait/expect/have patience’. Herein lay the hope of parenthood; that one day something would come of keeping a child, that there would be some return on the investment put in. In the place of girls this would be the return of bridewealth, in the place of boys, the expectation that they would ‘keep’ their aging parents in turn.
Both the words aisub and aidar hold an anticipation of a change out of the state of childhood. Implicit in ‘creation’ is the charge for eventual separation. In ‘keeping’ is the waiting for, the expectation of, being kept in return. In Nyadar it is understood there will be a point at which the ‘creation’ and ‘waiting’ is finished.
Understandings of ‘creation’ and ‘keeping’ define the process of being itunanak and make the stages of managing one’s own gardens, marriage, setting up a new household and bearing children, meaningful. Together these stages complete the transition implied in the representations. Those who fulfill these stages move from one who has been ‘kept’ to one who ‘keeps’ as befits one who has been ‘created’. Being itunanak in Nyadar is thus a period of life that establishes orientations towards the future. The growing independence started in the managing of one’s own gardens is finalised in the gaining of a home of one’s own. The transition from being someone who is ‘kept’ is finished when young people ‘create’ and become parents in turn. By the time they move from being itunanak to a frilly recognised adult, people in Nyadar have established the basis that, they hope, will constitute the rest of their lives
206 Having a home of one’s own is valued through such representations by young men and women alike. However they hold different relationships to and expectations of this home in time. Studies have suggested that there must be caution in seeking uniform descriptions of young people for their experiences are likely to be various according to lines of age, social standing, education, wealth and gender (e.g. Punch 1997: 21). On a day-to-day basis a young woman will spend a greater amount of time in the home. She is involved in the tending of livestock, storage of crops and preparation of food. Her closest friends are amongst her neighbours and husbands kin. In comparison, young men are more mobile, traveling to markets and visiting their friends around the area.
On marriage both young men and young women are committed to the future of their home. They have, however, different ways of contributing and relating to that future. For men the key stage in establishing an independent home is the transfer of bridewealth at marriage. This is a guarantee of his home, wife and children. Bridewealth orientates his home to the future. Not only does it bring a wife into his home but it also ensures that his children are rooted there on land, which has been his father's before him.11 It continues the train of ‘keeping’ and ‘creation’ that he himself has been part of. He will develop his home in order to develop his children and so ensure that he himself is ‘finished off by them. A man’s identity is inherent and remembered in the futures of his children and through their eventual homes and families. The most important means to this end is ensuring that his sons have access to bridewealth by which to marry in turn. In the past his responsibility would have been to work towards the bridewealth of his sons, through tending his own flock and negotiating the bridewealth of his daughters.
A woman also sees her identity as completed through the presence of children she has borne in the home. In contrast however her contribution to that future in the continual and present moments of ‘keeping’ her children rather than at one particular stage such as the transfer of bridewealth. Since economic transfers are made to her by her husband in the name of inobligatory gifts she has need of some
207 degree of security so that she can continue to ‘keep’ her children on a day to day and practical basis even without the input of her husband. The priority of a young woman is the confidence of an economic base in the household.
Idioms of ‘Independence’
In a sense the stages of being itunanak as defined through cultural representations are stages of independence. This is not, however, an ‘independence’ that is understood as the change from a passively ‘kept’ child to a disassociated ‘keeping’ adult. This is for two reasons. First is the fact that children of a home are very active in their own ‘keeping’. From an early age young boys are active in carrying water, herding the very cattle that might in future provide them with a bridewealth, participating in the agricultural success of the home. Young girls collect water and firewood, tend goats, prepare food and are also involved in agriculture from the age of four, as well as taking on cooking responsibilities from an early age. Whilst this is labour that might be valued as less important than the labour of adults, a situation which Nieuwenhuys argues for data from south India (1994: 198) results in the under recognition and thus exploitation of child labour, the labour of children in Nyadar is expected and acknowledged as holding the economic and social functions of the home together.
Second, is the understanding that the acquisition of adulthood involves the keeping of others in turn, both of one’s parents and own children. This is an understanding that ‘independence’ is something other than a freedom from obligations of kinship and relations of the home. ‘Independence’ involves interdependence and responsibility.
The meaning of ‘independence’ for itunanak in Nyadar is predicated upon local understandings. The core concept in the idea of independence is an understanding o f ‘wealth’ - ebaritas. Like ‘life’ itself, being itunanak and making the transition to ‘independence’ is seen by people in Nyadar to depend upon ‘wealth’. The emphasis here is not on the physical moments of reaching the stage of having children nor
208 the timing of providing for aging parents. It is on the capacity, the ability and possibility for this. Two further expressions for ‘independence’ in Nyadar are emiit and ekeriana, both of which literally mean ‘rich’. Wealth allows the possibilities of separation and of ‘keeping’. People in Nyadar understand that growing up does not guarantee an automatic acquisition of personal effectiveness. That efficacy needs enabling, through wealth. Hence the elaboration of wealth as independence. To be wealthy, is to be able and to be able is to be independent.
‘Independence’ depends upon wealth, it is also expressed through ‘wealth’. The phrase most commonly used in Nyadar for the concept of independence was the phrase ‘to be mine of mine’ - ajai kanuka. To describe someone as “ejai kenukec” is to say that, “he is his of his”. ‘Independence’ is thus understood through the possessive. Such ‘wealth’ is expressed in relations to the ‘home’. A young man is ‘his of his’ when he has moved out of his parents’ compound and into his own home, with a wife and child. A young woman is ‘hers of hers’ when she is married, with bridewealth paid, living with her husband on their own land with a child. This also has a physical and spatial expression. Another phrase for ‘independence’ in Ateso is eboi bon ‘to live away’.
Like notions of ‘creation’ and ‘keeping’, representations of wealth and what it is to be itunanak in Nyadar are negotiated through the forum of kinship. In other societies the lives of young people are framed through social symbolism, which is specifically enacted in kinship ritual and rites of passage (e.g. the Tonga, Reynolds 1991: 161; the Gisu, Heald 1998: 59). In Teso kinship is a more diffuse framework, and yet remains at the heart of what it is to be itunanak. It is through kinship that a young person is valued and their resources delineated. Kinship in Nyadar is both, as La Fontaine suggests (1986: 22), a practical framework and an ideological concept that contributes to the experience of being a young person. Once again the ‘home’ and its continuity by young people is seen as a key locus for the particular sense of Teso personhood held by those in Nyadar. It is this, which makes it a crucial site for post-war recovery.
209 Active Young People
A third representation of what it is to grow up and be itunanak in Nyadar is that it requires active dedication. Such a belief was articulated in the comments and conversations of people in Nyadar. For example there was a common saying, often spoken on the death of a small child that “It is most difficult to keep small children.” - aidar iduwee yendidik araisis etioko adepar”. It was explained that parents were most likely to lose infants for an infant’s helplessness contributes to its vulnerability. In comparison children and young people can play an active and expected role in their own upbringing and are less difficult to ‘keep’. In another way one of the highest compliments made of a young person in Nyadar was that they were ‘active’ - ecoculana. ‘Active’ people take initiatives and are hard working in building, in agriculture, brewing or in making money. Anthony & Uchendu (1978: 22) suggest that an orientation to achievement is one of the most noticeable cultural characteristics of the Iteso.
Being itunanak was seen by people in Nyadar as a period of life where, more than at any other time, things had to be achieved. Without effort the agency and independence, the necessary ownership and wealth of adulthood could not be obtained. Growing up as itunanak in Nyadar was seen to be framed by the day to day work of grasping onto this independence; the work of carving out an economic, agricultural and kinship niche. Quite simply, being a young person in Nyadar was seen to be ‘a lot of hard work’ - epol aswam. Without work the state of being an adult with effective agency could not be obtained. Once on a visit to Soroti I met a young man from Nyadar. He had, that morning, hiked the 40 miles from the parish to the town in order to meet with his mother’s brother. He was hoping to set up a shop in Oditel in order to start raising the money he needed for his bridewealth. He described the life of a young man as follows:
“Being a young man in Teso is like riding a bicycle on a road. There are hills and there are slopes, there are swamps and there are potholes. When you reach the hills going up you have to sweat. Sometimes there are slopes but I tell you, no road is
210 without the hills. And if you take your eye off the road, I tell you, you will fall off the bicycle.”
Akiteng Charles, 28, Soroti, 9.2.98
Knowledge
An important theme that contributes to theories as to what it is to be a young person in Nyadar is that of knowledge - acoa. When asked, in the theme sessions that I held in primary schools in Nyadar, to describe the difference between children and adults children gave replies such as:
“The difference between a child and an adult is this; a young child does not have thoughts but a big person has thoughts. A child might crawl in the dirt, get dirty and eat the dirt but a big person does not do that. They know that that is a bad thing. In fact big people are the ones who know how to connect a home. They think of what to eat and how to get it. Sometimes it is best to keep quiet as a child because big people talk about big ideas and knowledge. If a big person says their words and you refuse it is a very difficult thing.”
Ekolu Emmanuel, 13, Nyadar, 10.6.97
In the light of this, being itunanak in Nyadar, making the transition from child to adult is a process of acquisition of knowledge. Knowledge is seen to constitute thoughts and to be expressed in words. Knowledge acts as power; the power to influence and command other people, to have agency in the social relations of home, kin and area. Successful ‘independence’, the move to a home of one’s own is predicated upon such knowledge. Acoa, the word for knowledge, translates in the sense of ‘wisdom’ and ‘sense’ but also of ‘cleverness’, ‘ability’ and ‘outwitting’. Acoa is, like understandings of ‘independence’, an ability and capacity to form a ‘life’ and agency of one’s own. As young people in Nyadar engage with their world they see their need for knowledge and they value the means of acquiring it. A concern with ‘knowledge’ as a dynamic in the process of growing up is an obvious cultural concern in Teso. Autobiographies written by students in the early 70’s
211 (from school archives) also take the acquisition of knowledge through social encounters and through ‘outwitting’ as a key theme. 10
Sociality
The final set of cultural representation that frames the experience of itunanak in Nyadar are ideas about sociality, the sources of power, influence and efficacy in ‘life’. When young people use certain resources in their quest to grow up and achieve independence there are understandings implicit in the practical details of what they do. People in Nyadar come to grips with these understandings as children.
First is an acceptance that independence relies upon interdependence. Consequently no young person, it is acknowledged, can undergo the ‘hard work’ of being itunanak by themselves. Sociality is, quite simply, the foundation upon which the development of self and society is based. Second, and related to this, is the understanding that influence and personal efficacy in the society is based upon this sociality. The extent to which one is ‘known’ by people is the marker for how powerful an influence one is in the society.13 Third is an understanding that sociality has to be actively created, invested and maintained. Not only do most kinship relations incorporate idioms of ‘keeping’, of ‘hard work’ and obligation in their creation but friendships cannot be taken for granted either.
Fourth, is an understanding of social relations and their morality in terms of objects and words. This understanding is clear amongst children who understand social hierarchies in the home in terms of material objects and words. For example when asked “Who is the most important person in the home?” a child would reply “My father - he sits in the big chair” or when asked about the difference between a father and a child a reply that “You have to obey the words of a father else there is a big problem”.14 Objects and words define and constitute social relations. Related to this is the understanding, fifth, that objects and words are the tools of constructing and creating sociality. The word used for ‘social’ - emorana, means literally
212 ‘sharing’. Again children display this understanding in the friendships that they make in their villages or at school. When asked to tell stories about their friends, children constantly referred to the mango season and whom they had shared their hordes of mangos with. Mangos formed a free but desirable resource for children and children articulated their friendships in the terms of the relations built through mango collecting and distributing. They understood that objects and words both held power, which they referred to as the power of ‘sweetness’, and through this they could influence the terms of their sociality, their popularity with others.
THE IMPACT OF WAR UPON THE LIVES OF YOUNG PEOPLE IN NYADAR
Having identified the key activities and representations that define what it means to be itunanak in Nyadar, it is now possible to align these with the impact of the conflict. The lives of young people in Nyadar is a revealing place to seek to define this impact for it is the stage at the heart of the reproduction of the society, and it is also the idiom that people themselves identify to assess change. The periods of childhood and youth are, in any society, often closely linked to lines of value reflecting social concerns of generation and power and are therefore prone to historic and cultural discursive evaluation (James & Prout 1990: 20). This includes discourses from adults concerned with the temporality and instability of these stages (James 1992: 106). A representation of youth may be the locus of all that was good in what has passed, the site of all that is wrong in the present and the postulation of what will be. What it is to be a young person in the present can be defined against an ideal image of what it was to be a young person in the past. Such evaluations were made of the present, post-war, lives of itunanak in Nyadar. People claimed that young people were affected by the impoverishment and the knowledge brought by the conflict. This understanding is bom out in the replies given by secondary school students shown in Table 4.1
Impoverishment - ichan
213 People in Nyadar remark on the social, relational and material impoverishment brought by the war. This is the impoverishment expressed in the word ichan ‘poverty/suffering/affliction/adversity/sorrow/misery’. As I have explained before ichan is more than a description of poverty in itself; it is instead a word that describes a process of loss. Ichan contains the implication of what has been before, of what has been lost, of how things used to be. Ichan refers to loss that may be felt in all aspects of social life; the loss of wealth, the loss of kin, friends and people. Loss, any loss, results in impoverishment and that impoverishment is ichan. Ichan also means loss, not just as an objective description, but also in conjunction with the emotional consequence of
Table 4.1 Replies given to the Question ‘How Was Your Life Affected by the War?’ by first year students of Achumet Secondary School, 1997.15
The Impact of Conflict Number of respondents (one reply per person) Ichan Death of a relative or friend 22 Experience of famine 13 Loss of property 13 Loss of cattle 7 Disease 7 Loss of ‘life’ 2 Acoa Loss of education 12 Knowledge/witness of death 12 Experienced running/ being a refugee 8 Personal experience of violence 5 Failed to have knowledge of God 2 Experienced fear 2 Brought maturity 1 that loss. The word ichan, as used by people in Nyadar about the post conflict situation, combines description of emotion and circumstance for loss in material, social and relational matters, as a comparison between a previous acclaimed state and a present situation.
214 Ichan is a description given in the light of the importance of ‘wealth’ - ebaritas, both to the ‘home’ and to the processes of being itunanak. The loss of ‘wealth’ is a loss of both the means for personal effectiveness, for ‘life’ and of the expression of that ‘life’. Young people in Nyadar are itunanak in the context of this impoverishment. It has changed many of the previous certainties of growing up. For example children who have lost parents and a stable home structure through death and displacement can no longer anticipate a clear transition from being ones who are ‘kept’ to ones who ‘keep’ in turn. As orphaned children some young people have taken on sudden and complete responsibilities for access to land and the processes of household subsistence and economy in their parents home.16 Young women are increasingly encouraged to stay at home by their widowed mothers. Rather than achieve the independence of their own home they continue to work towards their mother’s household. The loss of kin has meant the loss of those whom young people would have previously turned to for help in making the transition to the independence of having a separate household.
Nowhere is the effect of this impoverishment clearer than in marriage. Young men still aim to found their home through a bridewealth marriage. Yet, as described in Chapter Three, with the loss of family herds owned previously by fathers and grandfathers and with a reduced expectation of bridewealth transferred for their sisters, many young men face the task of gathering their own bridewealth through their own efforts. Whilst it was always acknowledged that being a young person in Nyadar was ‘a lot of work’ - epol aswam, it is now claimed that that work is a ‘struggle’ - aimuket. In the words of the young man from Nyadar whom I met in Soroti, the “hills of youth have become steeper.”
After the war day to day household subsistence is more labour intensive. The aims of managing one’s own gardens, marriage and setting up an independent home, stages in the ‘independence’ so desired by young people in Nyadar, are less assured and require much more effort. Young people feel that the war has retarded them in the achieving of what they desire; in the ease of their progress of growing up.
215 Knowledge - acoa
People in Nyadar understand that growing up, being itunanak, involves the acquisition of knowledge, acoa. It is clear that they feel that the war has had a impact on this. In most senses this is seen as a detrimental loss. People lament the loss of key holders of knowledge during the war; political leaders, healers - amuron , and the elderly were are all targeted and killed. These were people who had gathered the knowledge and ability that allows efficacy throughout their lives. Their untimely deaths resulted in the loss of such knowledge. The stories, through which knowledge was transmitted, told by the elderly to their children and grandchildren and lost upon their abrupt deaths, could not be easily replaced.
People also remarked upon the loss of opportunities for knowledge through formal education and schooling. Whilst the knowledge acquired at school is not seen as an essential for growing up, it is held that schooling offers important advice and opportunities for knowledge that ensure that those who have been through schooling as young people will be more successful adults. Young people in Nyadar value schooling because it gives them knowledge; knowledge that will in turn translate into qualifications and potential for waged employment. During the war years schools were closed and destroyed. Teachers who were displaced and rarely received their salaries had little incentive to continue classes. Until 1992 the nearest secondary school to Nyadar was fifty kilometers away; a distance impossible for young people when the population were held in camps and when the dangers of ambushes on the roads were rife.
Young people in Nyadar keenly feel the damage that the war has done to their educational lives. There are those who have returned to secondary school after breaks of up to five years over the war and find themselves in classes of much younger people. They feel cheated and as though the opportunities and potential they might have had by now have been taken from them. There are those who have failed to return to school after the war altogether, failing to access the funds for school fees. They see that the war has meant their lives take a different turn from
216 what might have been. There are those who have returned to school but, in the climate of impoverishment, have faced a termly struggle to raise the money for school fees. Some resort to a broken education with a term at school and then a term off to work as labour in order to raise the fees for the subsequent term. They feel that the ‘hard work’ of being a young person is exacerbated by this constant struggle.17
Young people in Nyadar also say that the experience of war has given them ‘bad knowledge’ - acoa nu eroko. Young people describe being witness to violence and death in this way. They saw, with their own eyes, “how death really is”. They describe the experiences of fear, running in terror, famine, disease and devastating loss as ‘bad knowledge’. It is a knowledge that they could live without, that causes them pain in recollection and gives them memories tainted with distress. This ‘bad knowledge’ is seen as an unnecessary knowledge. It is not the knowledge to assist in a constructive growing up - apolor, nor the knowledge of how to create independence or a home of one’s own. Those in older generations see it as a corrupting knowledge. Parents in Nyadar frequently complained that today’s young people had learnt disrespectful behaviour during the war. They quoted the example of young children who used to gather at the soldiers barracks in Oditel to listen to disco music on the radio and who had learnt disco dancing at the insistence of the soldiers who gave biscuits as prizes to the best dancers. Or the example was given of agwayo who, with the power of being armed, had beaten up elderly members of the community and robbed them.
Yet there is also a sense in which young people agree that the knowledge of war has contributed to their maturity. Here they emphasis the sense of acoa as ‘outwitting’. They recall incidents in the war where they only survived because of their own quick thinking and cleverness - aoca. For some it is this knowledge that has brought them from being a child to being itunanak, which has made them grow up. For others it has made them into a substantially different kind of young person from those of generations before them. Young people draw comparisons between themselves and itunanak of the past by reference to the greater bulk of knowledge
217 they have because of living through years of conflict. With such knowledge, young people in Nyadar today, claim that they have a greater awareness of the meaning of life and death, of being chosen by God, and of what they want for their lives. Such knowledge has sharpened their desires and focused their aims. Young people feel that they are prepared to give independence, ownership, a home of one’s own and the hard work that accompanies achieving these, a keener sense of commitment after the experience of war. Through acquiring a ‘bad knowledge’ of death, they have a deeper incentive to invest in the stages of ‘life’.18
RESOURCES USED BY THOSE GROWING UP IN THE POST-WAR SITUATION IN NYADAR
Those who are itunanak in Nyadar after the conflict face growing up in situations affected by the ongoing impact of impoverishment and historically new patterns of knowledge. In the following chapters I will consider in detail money and words as resources that young people in Nyadar have employed to cope with these changes. Here I focus upon two key points in the process of being itunanak; for young men, the acquisition of brideweath, for young women the establishment of an independent economic income within the home. I look at the resources used by young people in these processes.
218 Case Studies
Young Men
The transfer of bridewealth is a key stage in the road of young men to setting up a home of their own. It is also one very clear point at which one of the pre-war certainties of young people - the assumption that bridewealth cattle will be available - has been destroyed by the war with the loss of herds. Therefore the acquisition of bridewealth in the post war situation provides a clear example of the resources to which young men rely upon to achieve their aims of independence.
Erwaku Alfred transferred bridewealth for his wife in 1994 when he was nineteen years old. He gave her parents 8 goats and 65 000/=. Alfred’s father was killed during the war and all his father’s seven cattle (which had come from Alfred’s sister’s marriage and which Alfred might have used for his own marriage) stolen. Alfred started planning how to gather his bridewealth in 1992. That year he grew millet as a cash crop and sold it in the market. He bought two goats with the money. He also teamed up with one of his mother’s brothers ( mamai) to make mud bricks. This uncle told Alfred that he could use all the money that they had made to put towards his bridewealth. Alfred’s mother gave him two goats, which she had brought after brewing beer. In 1993 Alfred heard that another of his mother’s brothers, with whom he had lived when he was a small child, was sick. Alfred went to stay with this uncle and helped his uncle’s wife with the agriculture. They grew millet and his uncle told him that Alfred should use this millet towards his bridewealth. In 1994 Alfred found a girl whom he wished to marry. He invited the girl to visit his uncle with whom he had stayed the year before. The uncle approved of the girl and gave Alfred permission to sell the millet he had grown on his uncle’s land. This raised 65 000/=. Alfred and his uncle went to meet the girl’s parents. They accepted an offer of 65 000/= and eight goats (two of Alfred’s goats had produced by this time). However they also demanded the payment of one cow. An introduction ceremony was held at the girls parents home and Alfred and his wife started to live together. In 1998 he had yet to pay the one cow but saw it as his first priority for expenditure from his household economy.
Okada Quinias married in 1997 at the age of twenty one. He gave his parents-in- law four cows, three goats and 70 000/= as bridewealth. His sister was married in 1994 with three cows and Quinias was given two of these cows by his father for the bridewealth. Quinias started working towards more bridewealth in 1995. His brother-in-law (husband of his sister) gave him a job in a shop in another trading centre from which he earned a salary of 30 000/=. In the same year he brought seven hens, reared them and sold them and the offspring for 30 000/=. With this Quinas brought three goats, which he again sold and brought a cow for 85 000/=. By this time Quinas had a girl in mind to marry. After negotiation with her father
219 he offered the three cows and 30 000/= as bridewealth. The father of the girl refused and Quinas set about raising more bridewealth. In 1996 he gave his money (30 000/=) to a friend to invest in a shop in Oditel. Meanwhile one of the cows produced a calf. Quinias also slaughtered one of the cows and sold the meat in the market raising 120 000/=. With this he brought a bull for 105 000/=. With the remaining money he brought a goat, which later produced twins. In 1996 Quinias borrowed money from a friend to invest in agriculture, he grew green grams, sold them at market, repaid his friend and made a profit of 40 000/=. By this time the money he had invested in his friends shop was given back to him with a profit of 20 000/=. Quinias went to speak to his potential father-in-law once again offering the four cows, three goats and 70 000/=. This was accepted and the couple started to live together.
Esegu Paulo’s girlfriend became pregnant when she was eighteen and Paulo twenty two and studying at boarding school. Her parents sent a letter to Paulo, his older brothers, and his widowed mother demanding a meeting. At the meeting, where local LC leaders were also present, it was agreed that Paulo should pay a fine of 50 000/= for getting the girl pregnant. Paulo also expressed his desire to marry her. A bridewealth of 120 000/= and one ox plough was agreed upon. Paulo’s mother later told him that he had to make a choice between continuing his education or paying bridewealth for because she could not afford to help him in both. Paulo chose to marry and used the money that his mother had saved for his next terms’ school fees and some assistance from his older half-brother, a teacher, to pay the 50 000/= fine. His girlfriend came to live with him and his mother until the child was bom. Paulo approached his older half-brother for assistance in acquiring the bridewealth but was refused.19 Meanwhile the girl’s parents continued to apply pressure for the bridewealth to be fully paid. Paulo turned to his mother’s half-brother, mamai, who worked in Kampala. On arrival in Kampala his mamai told Paulo that he was unable to help. Paulo went to his cousin, Raphael, son of the lineage head, who worked as a security guard in Kampala. Raphael found Paulo employment in a Coca Cola bottling factory. After a few days Paulo decided he couldn’t stand the work, he left and went to look for his older full brother who lived on the outskirts of Kampala with whom he then started to live whilst looking for work. After ten months away Paulo received news that his child had died. He went home for the burial. Several weeks later the parents of his girlfriend came to take her back to their home since the bridewealth had still not been paid. Paulo became very depressed and by the time I left the field he was drinking heavily in Oditel with no plans either to return to school or to pay his bridewealth.
Young Women
In the same way that the acquisition of bridewealth gives a clear indication of the resources that young men use to achieve independence in the post war context, so the means by which young women gain a personal income within a household shows how they manage being atunanak after the conflict.
220 Assimwe Annet was twenty-two years old at the time of my fieldwork. Her mother was a widow and was killed by soldiers in 1990. Annet lived with her father’s second wife and her younger sisters and step-siblings. By the time her mother was killed Annet had been at school to the standard of SI. Her mother had paid her school fees through brewing beer. In 1993 Annet decided that she wanted to go back to school and asked her brother who is a policeman in Kampala whether he would pay her school fees. He refused and so she teamed up with her sister to start brewing beer for sale in Oditel. From this she raised enough money to pay her school fees and to buy clothes for her younger siblings. In 1995 she became friends with a man who came to her bar whilst on leave from his job in Kampala. Annet became pregnant and the man told her that he eventually hoped to marry her. The child died a few weeks after it was bom and in 1996 Annet decided to go back to school again. Her boyfriend sent her the money for school fees out of his earnings in Kampala though he has yet to pay bridewealth to marry Annet. In 1997 Annet’s friend started up a small hotel in Oditel, selling cooked meals for the school teachers and visitors to the market. She asked Annet to assist her on the weekends and Annet received a small income for the bread that she baked for the hotel. In addition Annet continued to brew beer and so raise money for ‘keeping’ her younger siblings.
Eco Deborah was nineteen years old at the time of my fieldwork. She was married in 1995 and moved to live with her husband and her husband’s younger sister and her husband’s widowed mother. In 1996 she had a child. On her marriage her husband gave her a gift of 10 000/=. Deborah used this to buy millet and a couple of months after her marriage she started to brew beer. Her sisters who came to visit almost every week and stay for a night often helped her in this. With the profit from brewing Deborah bought a goat and some chickens. She sold eggs from the hens at the market in Oditel. The goat produced twins, one of which Deborah sold when her child was seriously ill and she needed money to take him to the clinic and to buy the treatment. Her husband bought her clothes but rarely gave her any more money.
The Resources of Young People
The acquisition of bridewealth and setting up a financial basis within the home are two moments which clarify the resources upon which itunanak in Nyadar have relied in making their transition from ‘kept’ to ‘keeping’ and to ‘independence’ despite the impoverishment caused by the conflict. First, young people can be seen to have relied upon agriculture, the available land and agricultural trade. Young men living on their father’s land contribute labour to the agriculture needed for household consumption. They can also concentrate their efforts on their own gardens devoted entirely to cash crops for monetary capital. Within the processes
221 of the regeneration of household economies based upon agriculture lies another process, the management of gardens by young men. This lays the foundation for their move to independence and eventual reproduction of the home itself. Whereas previously this reproduction would have been predicated upon a family herd, it is now predicated upon the potential ‘wealth’ afforded by agriculture.
Today young women also rely on agriculture. Whereas in the past marriage into a home with a family herd would have guaranteed them provisions for ‘keeping’ their children today they rely on the possibility of growing their own gardens of millet for brewing beer, generating an income and some degree of financial ability to ‘keep’ their children.
Second, young people rely upon knowledge of market economics. So the means by which Quinias increased his bridewealth amount was through a long process of buying and selling animals and harnessing their natural fertility to the market. Young men experiment in this kind of economics from an early age, buying and selling hens, if only to re-invest in agriculture. Over time they build up a wealth of knowledge that includes the details of sale and demand in time and in place. Young men will travel to markets all over Teso to exploit the variation in price at different seasons. Young women place a market for beer at the centre of their resources. Young women are taught how to brew by their female kin and will have been involved in the processes from an early age, they rely upon this knowledge.
Third there are national connections at the heart of these case studies of social reproduction. Annet relied upon money from a boyfriend earning in Kampala, Paulo relied upon his cousin in Kampala to get him his initial job in a factory. As discussed in the following chapter, waged labour has long contributed to wealth in Teso. These case studies suggest that this connection is being re-made in the post war period. The ability for young people to reproduce households at the micro level is dependant upon the re-integration of Teso as a whole into the economy of Uganda after the years of marginalisation.
222 Fourth, young people rely on their kin. The nature of this reliance is particularly shown in the case of Alfred. Having lost his father, the relation who would have in the past have made the most important contribution to his bridewealth, Alfred turned to kin whom he had a particularly close relationship with and whom he could benefit from. On the death of a husband a widow often turns to her natal family for support, especially because they live elsewhere and might have access to
0 1 better circumstances that the one in which she finds herself. Such a link is the basis for a young man’s reliance upon the customarily close relationship he has with his maternal uncle - mamai. In Alfred’s case turning to his mamai was also a continuation of a particular relationship he had formed as a child, when he lived in his uncle’s home soon after his uncle’s marriage. Whilst the obligations and expectations of patrilineal kinship might have been constrained by the impoverishment brought by the war (see Chapter Three), the assistance afforded through kinship relations of affection and concern is augmented. As can be seen through the case of Paulo, however, such kinship support is not always inevitable, guaranteed or successful.
Young women increasingly rely upon their natal kin to assert independence within their husband’s home. These links with a woman’s natal home are, anyway, stronger than they would have been in the past with the increased incidence of incompletely paid bridewealth. In such cases a woman’s parents rely upon the labour of their son-in-law and it is considered correct that a woman to retain close links with her family. As Deborah, whose bridewealth is incompletely paid, young women particularly use the resources of their mothers and sisters and the closeness that they have in their natal home. As more and more women set up female headed households in the post war climate they rely upon the resource of their natal home in the process of new rather than customary kinship alignments.
Finally, young people use their friends as a resource. Annet in particular relied upon and made use of her friendships. Her friend who opened the hotel gave Annet the chance of earning extra money through an empathy with her predicament. Her relationship with her boyfriend involved material and financial transfers. There is a
223 clear understanding in Nyadar that relationships of love will be marked by such exchanges especially from a man to a woman; a relationship echoed in marital exchanges as in the case of Deborah. Young women enter into sexual relationships with such expectations and thus explicitly come to rely upon their sexuality as a resource in other material aspects o f their life.
Friendship is used practical sense; groups of friends work together on each other’s gardens in aleya groups. Friendships are practical resources but they are augmented with emotional content. Young men use the trust that they have within their friendships to benefit from the economic possibilities and potential of others. So Quinias invested in his friends shop, trusting that he would reap the benefits.
From Kinship to Friendship?
Last (1994: 201) notes that it is easy to over look that fact the greatest resources for social security in times of upheaval are other people. He suggests that the greatest form of impoverishment is the loss of social networks. In Nyadar young people know that the processes of post-war recovery they are involved in depends particularly on two sets of networks, those with their kin and those with their friends.
Yet for many young people in Nyadar their kinship relations have been deeply affected by the conflict. For some the conflict has entailed them in increased kinship responsibilities. As in the case of Annet described above, with the loss of her mother she has been transformed from one who was ‘kept’, whose school fees were provided, to one who has to ‘ keep’ both herself and her siblings in turn. She is involved in ‘keeping’ whilst still routed in her natal household. This growing orientation to the natal household is discussed further below.
In addition though young people may turn to kin for assistance, all face the loss of kinship resources in the light of the decline of family herds. Being a young person has become a ‘struggle’. It becomes even more so when a lag in kinship
224 expectations conflicts with the decline in resources available. For Paulo, the parents of his girlfriend still expected him to pay a bridewealth way beyond his means. When he failed to pay they took the girl home, leaving him distraught. Many others in Nyadar have faced similar crisis’s and insecurities about their * future. Just before I moved to live in Nyadar one young girl had committed suicide. Her father had refused to pay school fees for her. In the comments of her best friend are encapsulated the dilemmas and worries common to a generation in Nyadar: *
“Since the time of her death up to now I am not myself. I lead a worrying life and it has made me to think of what I should do for myself. It has given me to think again of all that suffering of the past. All I can say now is that only God knows what a life I lead and what a person I might be in the future time.”
For many young people in Nyadar, however much things might have improved, what their kin can provide often falls cruelly short of their own hopes and desires.
The young people in Nyadar often commented that their friendships had been strengthened by an experience of common suffering and it would often seem that, in the post-war period, networks of friendship had become as important a resource as networks of kinship. Cohen & Atieno (1989: 127) remark upon the reliance on networks of friendship over networks of kin amongst Luo migrants to towns in Kenya. They suggest that in times of upheaval the relationships of friendship built on affection rather than those of kinship built on obligation are more effective. In Nyadar emotional ties to families remain strong. As will be discussed below, however, young people see themselves to take the role of provider to, rather than receiver from, their families. They use networks of friendship as one of the ways to achieve this role. People in Nyadar understand a reliance on friendship over a reliance on kinship as a significant socio-cultural change for young people since the conflict.
Nevertheless the practicalities and meanings of-kinship are still essential to processes of recovery in Nyadar. Kinship is not just a forum for managing the
225 exigencies of poverty of the post-war period, it can overlay other consequences of the conflict. Kinship relations have been crucial in Nyadar in dealing with the re integration of former combatants and situations of reconciliation. For example Luka joined the UP A when he was thirteen years old, remaining in the bush until he was sixteen. When he returned to Nyadar he was regarded with great ambivalence. Some saw him as a local hero and welcomed his return, others remained antagonistic. He talked to me of a time when he walked through the land of a home targeted by UPA rebels. The young men of the home had come out and thrown stones at him.
Luka was an illegitimate child and cared for by his mother’s brother. This uncle decided that on return from the bush Luka would be at risk of retribution if he remained at home. When Luka got a girlfriend his uncle brought him a plot of land at the other end of Nyadar for them to set up a new home amongst people who had been UPA supporters. By this time Luka’s older brother Vincent was also living with a woman and was making preparations to marry her. The parents of Vincent’s wife had been particularly targeted by UPA in the conflict. They regarded Luka as an enemy and threat. In time however, it was noticeable that Luka was an increasingly frequent visitor to his brothers home and built up good relations with his sister-in-law. At the ‘Introduction Ceremony’ of Vincent and his wife Luka sat amongst her relatives. New kinship relations in the present had reworked relations of enmity from the past.
226 ITUNANAK AND THE POST-WAR RECOVERY AND REPRODUCTION OF SOCIETY
Looking at the lives of young people in the post conflict period it is possible to analyse the resources upon which they rely in key life stages despite the impact of impoverishment and of conflict bound knowledge on their lives. Beyond the use of these resources it is evident that itunanak in Nyadar actively manage the impact of that conflict. They do so with close adherence to both the life stages and cultural representations taken in Nyadar to define the cultural experience of growing up. Whilst the resources they use might be different from the ‘wealth’ of generations before them, in which cattle dominated, young people still aim for ‘independence’ as a shift from those who are ‘kept’ to those who ‘keep’ in turn. They use resources in terms of their understandings of sociality and interdependence, of the sources of power, influence and efficacy in their society. They thus confirm and reproduce those notions. The strategies that young people use in post-war recovery are conservative of and perpetuate essential cultural praxis of what it is to be both a person with ‘life’ and what it is to be a young person. In short their processes of growing up and being itunanak in reconstruction, reproduce notions at the heart of a ‘way of life’ in Nyadar as a whole.
At the same time the conflict has had deep and ongoing impact on their lives. Young people grow up in situations very different from those of generations before them and there is a degree of innovation in what they do, evident in their reliance on friendship besides kinship in achieving efficacy and a ‘life’ of their own. It is the dialectic between conservation and change that has engendered other noticeably new social patterns amongst the young.
The Family
A common concern expressed by young people in Nyadar was their desire “to make my home people comfortable” - “akoto eong bee itunga lu oreeka aboiete ejok‘\ They felt a burden of responsibility for those in their natal home and wished
227 to see them well provided for. This sense of responsibility extended into their own claims for growing up; young people retained an orientation to their natal home members despite setting up their own marital and adult homes.
It was understood that such concerns were a new phenomenon in Nyadar since the war. People explained that such feelings stemmed from the fact that young people in Nyadar had seen and experienced the violence and destruction of the war as children in their natal homes. They, as children, had seen their parents suffer, lose their security and material wealth. Now as young people when they had some affect and influence in the world they desired that their efficacy should be turned to righting some of the wrongs of the past that had occurred when they were children without social influence. The experience of violence as children meant that their being itunanak was not completely future orientated, it also bore reference to events o f the past.
Such concern by children to their parents has been noticed in other societies after an experience of conflict, for example children of Holocaust victims have been seen to want to “act as redeemers” for their parents (Parker 1996: 270). This pattern indicates the social and psychological impact of war extending through the next generation. In Nyadar there was a sense of the war having disrupted the ‘normal’ and socially desirable patterns of ‘keeping’ ‘creating’ and ‘love’. War had denied parents elements of their relative ‘adult’ status; through their impoverishment they had lost both agency and the ability to maintain a home. Adults often said that they had felt like children during the war and their children had witnessed this crushing of their capacity. Since the war these children, bearing the experience of the suffering of their parents, had changed through the physical and social process of growing up and being a young person. For these young people then the process of being itunanak coincided with the process of reconstruction and improved conditions. Both involved enhanced agency in the world. Since the period of life as itunanak is characterized as ‘hard work’ in Nyadar, young people were in a position directly akin to the ‘hard work’ of post-war recovery. The ‘hard work’ of growing up could be saddled to the ‘hard work’ of the post-war period. In contrast
228 both parents and younger siblings had a less dynamic social standing in regard to the process of post-war recovery. And so young people in Nyadar who sought to ‘make their home people comfortable’ sought to use the burgeoning agency of growing up to address a situation, which had caused them pain and hardship in the childhood’s which they had left behind because they were most able to.
In practice the burden for others that young people felt was their responsibility and part focus during reconstruction and growing up was manifested in concern with a familial grouping known as ekek. Ekek refers to the children of one woman. The word ekek literally means ‘door’ (Karp 1978: 23).22 In its use is an implication that ideally the children of one woman will have all be bom in the same house and will have come out into the world through the same door. It is a definition of relationship through reference to physical space. It also holds a metaphorical sense; members of an ekek are the ‘door’ for a person to the wider world of sociality, a group that each person will some day leave, ‘go out o f to form homes and a ‘life’ of their own.
People in Nyadar remain close to the members of their ekek throughout their lives. Young men always bear a relationship of especial fondness to the sister of their ekek whose bridewealth cattle provide his bridewealth in turn.24 Young men and women make gifts to members of their ekek and it is members of their ekek that young couples will take with them on moving to an independent home. But in the post-war era it appears that ties to the ekek have been enhanced and may even rival moves to an independent home. Young people explained that this is because, firstly, they experienced violence as children, living in their family, surrounded by members of their ekek. When young people seek to overcome the impact of war it is these people that are thought of first, even more than a spouse whose experience of war will not be known so exactly. Having witnessed their suffering more than that of anyone else, a tie and affection to an ekek is maintained. Members of an ekek hold a pool of common knowledge about each other’s war experiences. As will be discussed in Chapter Six this pool of knowledge is crucial for local patterns of therapy. Whilst people were not keen to talk their experiences of conflict
229 through with a comparative stranger, they knew that the members of their ekek knew already.
Secondly in the climate of impoverishment reliance is placed upon the material gifts made between members of an ekek. Often, the first dress a woman obtained after the war was bought for her by her children.25 Third, the loss of a father in the war exaggerates the place of a young person within the ekek. An ekek might be all that they have left of their family. Such a situation has influenced some young women in Nyadar not to marry but to continue living at home. As one young girl put it when asked why she did not marry even after having a child but continued to live with her widowed mother:
“How can I leave my mother? She is my ekek. I am all she has and the first thing I want in the world is to make her comfortable.”
In the post war climate young people feel a weight of responsibilities or their natal families with whom they endured the worst impact of the war and for whom they direct their processes of recovery.
Education.
Abenjon Clara was a young girl in the secondary school near to Nyadar parish. During a group discussion on the theme of being itunanak, she gave the following comment:
“Being a young person today is different from being a young person in those times gone past before the war. In the past young people didn’t know about the politics of the area; whoever came to them could deceive them and take property from their parents. But now young people have experienced life and we can’t be deceived unnecessarily. The young people of these days can manage to know the politics of a person who come to cheat them. Another difference is that in the past parents didn’t mind about a child’s education. They thought that if a young man had knowledge about cattle that was enough. But now people have become wise and parents will concentrate on the education of
230 their children. In the past when a child developed his work was to look after cattle and there was a lot of ignorance and stupidity. In the past young people could never give good ideas to their parents but today there are school children and they teach their parents things like hygiene and communication. In school young people meet friends and learn different languages. In the past someone could stay for thirty years in the village where they were bom not knowing that other languages are spoken but now young people at school know other languages. These days people have got the chance of speaking to each other using their children. For example a father might not be educated but he wants to write a letter. So he will use his educated children to help him. That makes communication easier and great relationships form. Our parents are in difficulties these days because they grew from rich families, but we young people know what suffering is and with our education we have a lot of knowledge.”
Abenjon Clara, 15, Nyadar, 4.12.97
This description of the differences in the lives of young people before and after the war in Teso highlights some of the themes already mentioned. There is the perception that young people in Nyadar have accumulated knowledge - acoa, through their experiences of the conflict, that they are wiser and more able to defend themselves against socially detrimental episodes. It also shows a perception that knowledge of the old certainties of life as itunanak, for example of cattle keeping, are no longer so relevant. Instead Clara focuses on knowledge from formal education in schooling. She reveals the high value placed on education in the present climate.
At present there are more schools open in Teso and more students attending secondary school than at any time in the past. This as Atai-Okei (1993: 6) argues, reflects the high value placed on education in Teso, a fact demonstrated in the number of schools that have been rebuilt be parents and children themselves after the conflict. Teso has always been considered an educationally progressive area of Uganda, but after the conflict education has taken on new significance.
231 The local secondary school to Nyadar was founded in 1992 with funds from the Catholic Mission. In the academic year of 1997 there were 82 students in the first year. These students ranged in age from 12 to 20 years old. Some had come straight from secondaiy school, some were re-starting an education that had been disrupted through the war. The students came from all over Teso. The significance these students attached to education was revealed by their answers to the survey questions shown below.
Table 4.2: ‘Why is education important to you?’27
Importance of Education Replies Will lead to getting a salaried job in 30 future Brings knowledge 24 Will help achieve a better standard of life 24 in future Will help the whole family and 11 development of the home in future Will enable them to help others in future 4 Teaches reading and writing 4 Gives understanding of the country 3 Brings Friendship 2 Makes one be a good person 1 Brings development to the area 1
Table 4.3: ‘What is the most important thing you learn at school?’
Topic Replies English 22 Knowledge 21 Good manners and discipline 15 Health education 10 Reading and writing 10 Mathematics 5 Animal Husbandry and Agriculture 3 Politics 2 History 2 How to be active 1
232 What is clear from these replies is that education was valued by young people as having an impact on their future and orientating them to further personal and social development. Education was seen as a road to success whether that success was in the possibility of a moneyed income and future financial agency or in the possibility of knowledge which, as so crucial a factor in the understanding of ‘growing up’, would confer personal efficacy. This sense of education leading to wider opportunities is indicated in the emphasis placed on the learning of English. It was through English, the national language, that young people hoped they would have access to state and national progress. What is significant is that education was seen to assure future standing. In a climate where so many of the previous certainties of being a young person, former wealth, resources and provision had been lost, education offered an additional chance of achieving efficacy and standing in the world.
This was recognised by parents and their children alike. Parents talked of being more willing to pay for their children’s education than in the past where their main influence in the development of young people would have been the bridewealth cattle of a young man. Instead they now talked of educating their children as an investment so that they would have a person who could support the home, ‘keep’ those within it and thus maintain the integrity of their home kinship into the future. On the other hand young people often contributed as much to their school fees as did their parents and often spoke of education as a “key” to better life circumstances than they had already known. As they put their disturbed childhood pasts behind them, many young people turned to education to combine with their ‘growing up’ in the hope of a different kind of future. Education was seen as a way of insuring that the ‘hard work’ of being itunanak resulted in a securer future by channeling it through the institutional framework of schooling and waged opportunities in Uganda.
Yet schooling was not an automatic channel for all itunanak in Nyadar to achieve knowledge to secure a future. School fees represented a sum of money far beyond the reach of many in Nyadar. The ‘struggle’ for school fees was a constant source
233 of worry and conversation throughout the parish. Many chose to use their limited financial resources in other ways.
In paying school fees young people relied on their kin for assistance, the majority on their immediate family. Parents were prepared to ‘keep’ their children longer through their schooling. But many young people were active contributors to their own school fees; thirty percent of the students interviewed were paying more than half of their fees from their own finances.28 Once again, as indicated by Table 4.4, markets of trade and labour were at the centre of methods of accumulation for school fees. The same resources used for bridewealth, ‘keeping’ children, creating an independent household and stages of being itunanak were directed towards education also.
Table 4.4: ‘How did you raise last terms school fees?’
Source of school fees Number of respondents Selling crops 29 Sale of livestock 18 Aipakas 10 Selling beer 9 Father’s salary 7 Salary o f a relative 4 As part of an unpaid bridewealth for a 2 sister Sponsorship 2 Selling wood 1 Rent of property 1 Making bricks 1 Loan from friends 1
CONCLUSION
Like the process of becoming a member of the elite in Vincent’s study of social process in Gondo (1968), becoming itunanak is a transition underpinned by a shared cultural praxis. The young people of Nyadar, like generations before them,
234 leave childhood and go forward to adulthood through the cultural life stages of ‘youth’, stages that are define through cultural representations. Being itunanak is a crucial part of the Iteso life cycle, one in which people constitute their notions of belonging, of founding a home, of what it is to be a person, through the praxis of setting up economic independence and establishing a home and family.
The itunanak of present day Nyadar are, however, in a unique position for they reach this part of their life cycle as the whole society emerges from a time of war, loss and change. The generational structures and resources that would traditionally have been on hand to underpin the transitions involved in being itunanak are no longer there; fathers do not have cattle for their sons to marry, daughters enter homes and attempt to cater for their children in impoverished situations. On a more phenomenological level the young people are affected by the memories and knowledge of what they have witnessed and experienced.
What has resulted from this coincidence of the young people’s life cycle and the post-war situation is that their efforts to achieve the stages of being itunanak, to fulfill the representations of what it is to be a youth in Teso, have become the mainstay of efforts of post-war recovery. Their efforts at creating ‘life’ for themselves have become the very dynamics of recovering a wider ‘way of life’ in the society at large. This fact is well recognized by people in Nyadar. The older generations have exaggerated the long standing cultural value in Teso of youth as a time of initiative and energy to legitimise the importance of youth in the contemporary situation. The youth themselves have engaged with the climate of opportunity and potential in the processes of post conflict recovery in their area.
There is both cultural conservatism and innovation in their engagement. On the one hand it has been seen that itunanak engage with the post conflict situation in the terms of being a young person in a specific culture and history; in terms of a ‘way of life’ which is locally defined, valued and situated. Young people bear the expectations of adults and themselves. These expectations incorporate the cultural representations of what it means to be itunanak. For as with children, young people
235 “carve out their own childhood’s but within and between fluid cultural constitutions of what ‘childhood’ should entail” (James 1993: 19). Thus young people cope with the impact of the war with a degree of conservatism, they rely upon resources that fit with previous ideas of sociality and relationship, they aim for the same markers of maturity that generations before them have. On the other hand it must be accepted that the war has had a profound impact upon young people, an impact that continues to affect the practicalities of living out those representations and the position of young people in society. Young people in Nyadar cannot rely upon the same resources as their parents before them, especially in the light of a loss of cattle. There is thus a degree of innovation in what they do. For example money and the market hold a pivotal place in fulfilling the representations of what it is to be a young person. With such innovation the priorities of young people are weighted in new ways, as shown in concerns for ekek groupings. Young people see new avenues to achieve old goals as shown in the attention to education.
Whilst the initiative of youth would seem to be an entrenched principle of Iteso life, the profile they have in the climate of post-war recovery is of new significance. As Clara herself noted there has been an appreciable reversal in the relative influence between youth and older generations in Nyadar. This reversal is, however, historically located. For it occurs in the immediate post-war period when those of the older generation stand in the same position of their youth in terms of their level of resources. In years to come as those of an older generation themselves re-build their homes, or as the youth of today in turn see their children become youth, things might well go back to what they were before the war with the resources of elders underpinning the transition of youth, rather than as is currently the case, the resources that youth themselves so often have to ‘work hard’ for.
236 1 Itunanak; young people plural, atunanak; young people feminine plural, etunanak; young people masculine plural. Atumunan; young person, feminine singular, etumunan, young person masculine singular. 2 In the past Iteso boys would have been initiated at the age of 14 (Nagashima 1998: 234). Itunanak referred then to the stage between initiation and marriage. 3Lawrence (1956) gave the divisions of life stages as being: imukeru a baby until the age of 2 when it is weaned ikoku a child until the age of 6 etelepat a boy until the age of fourteen or until puberty etumunan a youth until the age of 18 esapat a young man until the age of 26 ekiliokit a grown man until the age of 42 apolon an elder until the age of 66 emojong an old man, until death The age divisions I heard used were: imukeru a newly bom baby ikoku a small child apese a girl with no child etelepat/esapat a boy until puberty itunanak young people, whether married or not from the age of 12 to 30 ekiliokit a married man aberu a married woman apolon/emojong/amojong a person with children who are itunanak, term of respect 4In the light of this, development agencies working in Teso have adopted this definition of ‘youth’ so that children are defined as those under the age of fourteen. This is in contrast to the definition of the child in the 1995 Uganda Children’s Bill as a person below the age of eighteen (Malich 1996: 1). 5The full formal sequence which leads up to marriage between young people in Nyadar is as follows: once a man has identified a partner or has paid a fine imposed upon him for getting a girl pregnant, he, his father, one or more of his paternal uncles, and one or more of his fathers neighbours are invited to the home of the woman’s parents. There they eat a meal and discuss the amount of bridewealth to be paid. In time, when the amount of bridewealth has been collected, the groom’s party call representatives of the bride’s party to a meal and show them the animals and money collected for bridewealth. If the bride’s party is satisfied they can return home with the bridewealth, if they are not negotiations may continue. Once the bridewealth has been taken to the home of the bride, her family organise an ‘introduction ceremony’ atukokino epucit , at her natal home to which a large party from the groom’s family are invited. This consists of a large meal and the formal ceremony of acceptance of the groom by the bride. The next morning the bride is escorted to her husbands home by a group of age mates. They stay with her for a few days and then return home. After some weeks or months an ‘introduction ceremony’ may be held at the grooms’ home for the family and neighbours of the bride. However this practice is not considered as important as the introduction ceremony at the bride’s home and is rarely practiced these days. At the ‘introduction ceremony’ at the bride’s natal home, members of each party are formally introduced to each other by name. In the past, a bull would be killed, the meat eaten and the bride wrapped in the hide, fresh with blood. She would be smeared with fermented milk. The last woman known to have gone through this part of the ceremony in Nyadar was aged 45 at the time of my fieldwork. households, which consist only of an elderly couple or a single widow or widower, are often joined by a grandchild also to provide this assistance and companionship. 7These children who move around the homes of siblings and relations were, in the past, the uneducated members of a home, who were not attending primary school. They are jokingly referred to as ‘P. Tap ’. Whereas children in primary school belong to classes such as P[rimary] 1, P.2, P.3, etc., children not in school, and that includes pre-school age infants, are in ‘P. Tap ’: P SAboi oree ainyam atap, ’ P.‘Stay at home and eat atap\ Atap being the name of the staple millet bread. However in 1998 Museveni introduced Universal Primary Education (UPE) where every child in the country would attend school as subsidised by the state. Previously all education both primary and secondary had to be paid for. This meant that members of P. Tap were now only pre
237 school infants and that there were a lack of available children to live with and work for older siblings and relations on a day to day basis. It was jokingly said that grandmothers were going back to P. Tap in order to fill the gap; that they were becoming child minders and home assistants in the place of children for “ Eijuket Museveni akasaan kere osemero” “Museveni has sent all the nursemaids to school”. 8A man with no surviving children is referred to as etwanit, ‘a dead man’. 9The idiom of putting stones on other people’s graves is a common one in kinship conversation and banter. If a child is annoyed with their parents they might remark that “[You better take care] I’m the one who has to put stones on your grave”. Or young people use it as a bargaining tool for favours from their elders; “I will put stones on your grave.” People will remark that the larger the pile of stones on a grave the greater the amount of respect shown to the person buried there. 10The offerings and celebrations at a memorial service held one year after a person’s death are called asuban. nIn comparison children from an epaupet relationship are seen to belong to the mother. 12 Examples of auto-biographies from secondary school students from the 1970s are given in Appendix 5. 13 The clearest example of this was in the reputation held by the driver of the one daily pick-up truck to Oditel from Soroti. He had the reputation of being the most powerful man in the society in tandem with being the most well known. The extent of his sociality was in the movement that he made every day and the opportunities he had to meet people, become friends with them and do them favours. 141 once overheard the following conversation by two young children in Oditel concerning myself. It illustrates a perceived link between social hierarchy and material objects. One child ask the other “Who do you think is the most ‘beautiful’ [powerful agogon ] musungu [white person]? Jo or John Hodison [father from the Catholic mission]?” “John Hodison” the child replied “because he has a tractor”. 15 Further replies from this survey are given in Appendix 4. 16There are households in Nyadar where widowed mothers, who have decided not to turn to their late husband’s brother have relied upon teenage sons to organise the ploughing and cash cropping of the entire household. Or cases where widowed fathers have moved out of Nyadar in search of employment and left older daughters or married sons to run the home for their younger siblings. The high number of households consisting of grandparents caring for their orphaned grandchildren is given in the data from the household survey in Appendix 3. 17The fees for one term at the local Achumet Secondary School, opened near Nyadar in 1992 are 27 000/= per term. This is the cheapest secondary school in Teso, compared to some of the boarding schools which charge 200 000/= a term. It is students from this school who rent premises in Oditel from those who still have houses there. At the time of my fieldwork this rent was 3 000/= a month., the daily wage for waged labour aipakas was 1 000/=. 18 The autobiographies written by secondary school students in the 1970’s can be compared with those written by secondary school students during my fieldwork (Appendix 5). In these the emphasis is on both the destruction of war to the process of growing up, the loss of cows for bridewealth, the loss of parents to help ‘keep’, help and advise their children, the loss of educational opportunities but also on the ‘cleverness’ of children today as having a wider field of knowledge after the war. 19 See Previous chapter, point number 2, Figure 3.1. 20 It would seem, from conversations with the parents of the girl, that their decision to take their daughter home again was strengthened by rumours circulating at the time that Paulo was sick with Aids. A previous girlfriend of his in Oditel had recently died from Aids. He present girlfriends parents suggested that it was their duty to cease contact between their daughter and Paulo. 21This strategy was particularly evident when famine hit Nyadar in mid 1997. Widows journeyed to their natal homes in search of food and resources. This appears to be a common strategy in Africa in times of famine; Coulson 1971. 22 Vincent (1968: 107) states that in Gondo ‘ ekek’ referred to a small localized segment of a patrilineage larger than an extended family including two or three brothers and their children. This is not the social group that ekek referred to in Nyadar. 23New bom children are brought out of the house of their birth, into daylight, for the first time three days after birth. On this occasion the mother sits at the door of the house and a naming ceremony,
238 aipuduno, is held. The mother sits cross legged at the side of the door. She is then given a calabash of beer by her husband’s father which she and he drink in turn whilst he recites a blessing to the child; “Ainak ejok, apolor ejok” “Breast-feed well, grow up well”. The mother dips her finger in the beer and puts it in the child’s mouth. She then breast feeds the child on the doorstep. Different clans have slightly different varieties of this ceremony. Some involve the spitting of beer over the child and mother by her husband’s lineage. 24These relationships extend through the generations. It was evident that young men in Nyadar were particularly close to their aunt whose bridewealth cattle had formed their own father’s bridewealth for their mother. In some cases men even went to visit and pay respect to the sister of the man who had married their father’s sister, because ultimately it was her marriage who had provided the cattle for their own fathers union. 25It is rare for a child to make a gift to their father but common for them to make gifts to their siblings and mother. A father is considered outside ekek. Nevertheless the degree of young people attending secondary school in Nyadar itself was low. In Otela, the sample village, there was only family who had children in secondary school during my fieldwork. Throughout the whole of Nyadar there were no more than twenty young people in secondary school. 27 The full results of this survey can be found in Appendix 4. 28 See Table A 4.ll.
239 240 Plate 10: THE FUTURE
Children from Nyadar on their way to school (above). Children in Oditel build shops and play at being shop-keepers (below) 2 “The year was 1985 when our mother land was deprived of her riches. The land flowing with milk turned into a hell of famine. The people of this land who were dark coloured Africans have lost their beauty; have lost their dark colour, all because of burning hunger in this impoverished land. Before the cow was taken, this land was a paradise. It was characterised by its plain and beautiful scenery where the cow used to graze upon sweet grass. During those days a cow was the only measure of riches, just like horsepower is a measure to the machine. The more cows one had, the more one was respected. In fact various disciplines in life were viewed at the cow’s level; for instance the more cows one had, the more chances one had of becoming a chief. Today we call a departing gift to the cow, all we can do is to buy a card to say farewell and we remain thinking and seeing just beyond our noses in a situation of short sightedness.” Essay: ‘The loss o f cattle in Teso ’, James Okiror, 24, Achumet Secondary School, 3.12.97 “Why I say that we should bring cattle back to Teso is this: cattle are our pride and our wealth. In those days before the war when a man had cattle if he had any problem he could just sell a cow, get money and solve the problem. In those days all the children drank milk and were very healthy. That is why I say it will be very good to bring cattle back to Teso.” “For me, I completely disagree. In those days when people in Teso had a lot of cattle they were very backwards. All they could think about were cows. A man would refuse to sell his cattle even to send his children to school. That it is why it is better now, people have learnt new ways of keeping up to date.” Debate; ‘Do you want cattle back in Teso? ’ Nyadar youth group, 19.2.98 243 In this chapter I wish to conjoin two trends of the post conflict situation in Nyadar. First is the loss of cattle; the essay above, which was written by one of the secondary school students in Nyadar, comments evocatively on how this has been one of the major impacts of the conflict on people in Teso. Now, in the post-war period, it is a contested issue as to whether cattle herds will or even should be regained. This contestation was clear in a debate I organized on the subject for the Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group, part of which is quoted above. The second trend is the state during my fieldwork in Nyadar in which it was obvious that people considered money as a major resource for the praxis of post-war recovery. This is borne out in the ethnography of the preceding chapters. It has been seen that in Nyadar money played a ubiquitous role in processes of social reproduction and perpetuation after the conflict. If recovery involves a path to ‘life’, a life of access, movement, possessions, refurbished and reproduced homes and reassembled opportunities and ability, then money was held as one of the major tools in being able to re-claim ‘life’. Money, how to get it, what to do with it, how other people used it, its power and scope, were topics I heard constantly talked over during my time in Nyadar. In this Chapter I describe a shift from cattle to money and put it in context, phenomenological and historical. I set the values given to cattle and to money in the context of cultural representations and understandings of wealth and in the changing economic history of Teso. It will be shown that the shift from cattle to money is historically important and a major aspect of the social change wrought by the conflict. It will also be shown, however, that the way money is used and perceived in Nyadar makes it as important a part of ideas of wealth and cultural praxis as cattle has been in the past. THE PLACE OF ‘WEALTH’ IN CULTURAL ‘LIFE’ Wealth - ebaritas, holds a strong place in Iteso imagination. Wealth provides the ability for fulfilling many of the cultural representations, the understandings of a 244 ‘way of life’, outlined in the thesis so far and is an important basis for personal efficacy of those who enjoy ‘life’. Ebaritas is, firstly, a concept of property. Emudong (1974: 32) suggests that property is a concept of long standing importance amongst the Iteso as evidenced in the high penalties accorded to thieves.1 Throughout Teso property is important as a symbol of identity and historical way of life. As outlined in Chapter Two when people in Nyadar remark upon the positive aspects of the pre-conflict period, they talk in terms of property. So Ebuku John, the oldest resident of Nyadar and still living in Oditel camp remarked when I visited him at his home to talk about the changes he had seen in his lifetime: “We didn’t always used to be like this. If you had seen us before the war, you would have seen that Oditel was a better place. In the sixties there were three people here who owned motorcars. Those cotton stores were full and there were men who owned more than six hundred cows. We used to be rich.” Ebuku John, age unknown, Oditel, 19.2.98 The extent of property stands as a symbol of the wealth and relative idealism attached to the pre-conflict era in Teso Property is used as a marker of Iteso identity and of personal identity. As mentioned in Chapters Three and Four, people in Nyadar defined personal beauty and character in terms of the objects one uses and has access to. Bicycles, motorbikes and cars, tin roofed houses, brick houses, smart ‘Sunday best’ clothes, shoes, plastic items for the home, radios and livestock, are all considered to depict and constitute, to make statements about the kind of home one has and the kind of person one is. Secondly ‘wealth’ - ebaritas, is understood to allow personal efficacy. Ebaritas, as young people in Nyadar well know, underpins and enables the processes of growing up, of achieving marriage and a separate household. Ebaritas underpins the successful reproduction and continuation of the home. More widely ebaritas is said to enable one to ‘go forward’ - alotar, a word that expresses development into the future. 245 Cattle as Wealth Historically it has been cattle that were considered the pinnacle of desire, the greatest expression of ebaritas in Teso. Pastoralism is a way of life in the area and started with permanent settlement in the area in the Cl8th and Cl9th. With settlement came the acquisition of livestock particularly raided cattle from pastoral neighbours. Cattle soon took a high place in the Iteso imagination; a cow marked the end point of barter exchanges, the highest unit of value (Okalany 1980: 301). The early C20th brought saw trade in Teso and stimulated the process in which men started to amass large herds. Using cattle in bridewealth exchanges was an established system by the time of colonial consolidation in the early nineteen hundreds (Griffiths 1958: 3). As Spencer (1997: 20) has described for other pastoral societies in East Africa, cattle form a particular kind of material wealth for the Iteso. Cattle have a natural tendency to increase and are a resilient bank with exchange value in times of drought and crisis. Cattle are also a social wealth. Family herds are the foundation for processes of social production and reproduction. It is well elaborated that, in societies with a system of bridewealth payments, and where those payments are paid in cattle, claims to cattle actualise and mark claims between people. Exchanges in cattle solidify shifts and changes in those claims. Through cattle inter-generational and inter-gender power balances are constructed and maintained. In particular, movements of cattle between ‘wife receiver’ to ‘wife giver’ groups negotiate the movement of women and their productive and reproductive powers in marriage (Gluckman 1950: 184; Goody 1976: 8). There is no more striking example of property as a crucial indicator and constituent in the balance of power in a society, especially between men and women (Hirschon 1984: 9). With their role in social relationships cattle underpin a ‘way of life’ for the Iteso and constitute personal identity. Just as Evans-Pritchard (1940: 40) described for the Nuer, so too cattle hold a key place in Iteso sense of personhood: “irrespective of use they [cattle] are in themselves a cultural end and the mere possession of and proximity to gives a man his hearts desire. On them are 246 concentrated his immediate interests and furthest ambitions...so many physical, psychological and social requirements can be satisfied from this one source” (c.f. Hutchinson 1996: 61). In Teso, cattle completely fulfill the characteristics of ‘wealth’, ebaritas. They do so in terms of the reproduction of the ‘home’ that is incapacitated without them. During the history of continual migration and re-settlement throughout Teso, itunanak who set up new homes came with their personal herd of cattle, a family herd that facilitated the development of the home. The cattle owned in the name of a single man gave him the potential ability of marrying a wife and wives for sons, they offered a resource in trade and a means of making socio-political links and friendships. Cattle lending and networks focused on cattle products marked relations of hierarchy and authority (Ogajo 1995: 29, as in other cattle based societies; c.f. Maquet 1961). In addition cattle provided materially for the home in the form of milk, cheese, hides, dung, meat. Cattle enriched the home of the present and promised for its future development. When a woman entered her j husband’s home after the transfer of bridewealth cattle she stood, as Cheater has suggested (1986: 169) secure in a completed marriage bond. She knew that she would always be welcome in her fathers home, enriched as he was through her bridewealth cattle and that she would bring up her children in a home catered with cattle products. Cattle were a wealth of opportunity, potential and security. HISTORICAL NOTIONS OF WEALTH IN TESO For people in Nyadar, as throughout Teso, cattle are wealth - ebaritas, par excellence. Cattle are both a property that constitutes identity and enable personal efficacy. Cattle are an integral part of the cultural praxis in Teso and a fundamental part of understandings of ‘life’ and personhood. The pre-eminence of cattle in Teso has historical economic foundations. It was consolidated by the colonial and post-colonial history of articulation between a monetarised capitalist economy and small-scale local economies. 247 All over the world, different forms of economic livelihood coexist and defined each other in dialectical synthesis (e.g. Maclean 1994: 683). It is a synthesis found in economies throughout Africa. As Shipton (1989: 5) states “market and non market principals seem to interweave. African farmers continue to pay bridewealth in livestock or blankets, redistribute grain and meat at funerals at the same time as they compete for coffee profits, speculate in land markets or hire wage labour. No African society before or after European times was ever wholly socialist or capitalist and none is likely to be so soon.” In Teso a historical dialectic between economic systems worked to raise the importance and prevalence of riches in cattle. As discussed in Chapter Two, the quick adoption of cotton cash cropping in conjunction with ox ploughs at the household level brought major economic change to Teso. By 1935 331 000 bales of cotton were produced in Teso, with the monetary profits spread at household level. Anthony & Uchendu (1978: 10) suggest, as was confirmed by the opinions of older men in Nyadar that cattle existed as a target for such income. Anthony & Uchendu (43) also suggest that the money economy represented a legitimate opportunity for men in Teso to increase their herd of cattle in a period when cattle raiding was outlawed. In 1937 an official investigation into health and agriculture in Teso was conducted by one of the British agricultural officers in Teso, de Coury-Ireland. In his report de Coury- Ireland concluded that, although money was in use amongst the Teso for buying hoes, clothes salt and cigarettes from Buganda traders and although taxes were increasingly paid with money, the Teso people were not yet “money minded” (1937: 7). He felt that, because of the persuasiveness of bridewealth in Iteso social life and because of the introduction of the ox plough in 1920, wealth was still ultimately reckoned in cattle (c.f. Langlands 1971: 29). He noted that increased productivity in the area was fed back into the chain of acquisition of cattle. He complained that with such a state, where the end point of agriculture was cattle and where cows were never slaughtered for their meat, due to their role in production and reproduction, there was no hope of improvement in the nutritional 248 status of the Iteso. He proceeded to make suggestions as to how to implement the penetration of the cash economy into Teso social and economic life. De Coury-Ireland proposed measures to make the Iteso “money minded”. He argued (1937: 21) that the slaughter and consumption of bullocks should be encouraged by the provision of market and abattoir facilities. There should be low taxation on meat and the creation of a butcher class. These would be men with the capital to buy bullocks and they would act as the mediators between abattoir and market. He saw that measures should be made to increase the acceptability of cash. He noted the undesirability of money for the Iteso, being more negotiable and having less insurance, he felt that money upset community life. De Coury- Ireland proposed therefore that cattle premiums should be substituted with cash premiums to make bullocks represent a working unit rather than idle wealth. Facilities should be made to deposit money with the native administration so that the interest of cash could be taken to represent the natural increase of cattle whilst also having the insurance of not being vulnerable to disease or theft. On the back of these recommendation and in line with colonial policy in other areas, cattle markets were in introduced in Teso that linked to the trade and sale of meat throughout East Africa (Lawrence 1957: 30). Facilities were put in place for gathering large numbers of cattle from markets throughout Teso and for their transportation to Bugandan abattoirs on the train. To further this project a cattle ranch was built on the border with Karamoja and a factory on the outskirts of Soroti. This provided an on-sight processing plant where Iteso men were drawn into the waged labour of learning how to prepare cuts suitable for Kampala and Nairobi dining tables.3 Cows, the label of wealth in Teso were increasingly commoditised. The possibility for the interchangeability of cattle with cash was now in place. Men in Teso could take their bullocks to market for sale, they could, likewise, purchase heifers to increase their herds. This became an increasingly acceptable transaction (Lawrence 1957: 143). By 1949 the sale of cattle was the second 249 largest income generation in Teso, behind the sale of cotton. The sale of cattle generated five times as much as the sale of fish and twelve times as much as the sale of ground nuts which were the third and fourth major sources of income in Teso at that time (Anthony & Uchendu 1978: 49). It would seem, however, that this interchangeability between cattle and cash was not for the Iteso, conceptually, a direct exchange. This is evidenced in the differentiated made between ‘cattle of the home’ - aituk lu oree , and ‘cattle of the market’ - aituk Vusukorni. This distinction remains in use today; ‘cattle of the home’ constitute a family herd owned in the name of one man. ‘Cattle of the home’ are herded by the sons or employees of his household, or by members of his close lineage. ‘Cattle of the market’ are owned in the name of one man but are herded in large groups incorporating cattle from the whole community and are herded in turn by groups of friends and trading companions. ‘Cattle of the market’ are cattle specifically marked out for sale and are transitory groups of cattle brought in from one market and to be sold on in another. They are often named after the market where they are brought. ‘Cattle of the home’, in contrast, are kept for their milk and for a place in bridewealth exchanges; they are given names of affection. Money made from the sale of ‘cattle of the market’ can be used to buy cattle specifically for the home but ‘cattle of the market’ would never directly become ‘cattle of the home’. It would seem that whilst market cattle transactions can eventually feed into the reproduction and sustenance of the home, there is conceptual distinction maintained between the two with priority given to ‘cattle of the home’ as ebaritas. The sale of cattle was not the only point of entry and exit for cash into the Teso household economy. By the 1930s women were selling beer in the market places (Emudong 1974: 240). Through the cotton trade and flourishing production of cash crops, Teso was increasingly part of national and global economies (Wilson & Watson 1953: 190; Vincent 1982: 1). The growing infrastructure of education and local government brought increasing number of waged posts. Between the 1940s and 1970s Oditel had a class of teachers, church officials, chiefs and 250 traders, which stimulated the development of a local economy of aipakas. In such a climate money was increasingly effective as a tool of personal efficacy and riches. Money gained force in a situation where there were expanding amounts of desirable consumer goods and where the advantage of education in securing a wealthy future was being recognised. Yet despite the increasing prevalence of monetary transactions cattle remained the dominant reckoning of ebaritas and social security in Teso imagination (Orumi 1994: 56). During my fieldwork in Nyadar I held group discussions and interviews with older men on this subject. They stated that in these years they saw cattle as more valuable than cash because of its role in the reproduction of the home. Cattle were visual wealth that could be admired and the ownership of cattle denoted success and influenced relations with others through patronage. Cattle contained natural fertility and gave out useful products. The men that I talked with stated that they entered the cash economy with the aim of acquiring cattle and when they made monetary gains through the cash economy or through agriculture, they fed it back into the purchase of cattle. They used cattle as a bank of wealth that could be realised through the sale of a cow for some particular need such as school fees or medical expenses. From the thirties to the sixties the size of herds owned by men in Teso grew at a rate beyond that of natural increase (Wilson & Watson 1953: 195; Ross 1954). This was by no means a unilateral progression; there were those in Nyadar who owned few cattle and those who owned up to 600. However the wealth in cattle in Teso as a whole accounted for 37% of all the cattle in Uganda (Anthony & Uchendu 1978: 82). It is this ebaritas that people in Teso refer to as they remember their former wealth. For people in Teso money was valuable at this time for its power to purchase, especially the power to purchase cattle, but money was conceptually less valuable than cattle for money in itself was not considered wealth. Such distinctions are common in the articulation of “cattle complex” (Herskovits 1926 in Spencer 1997: 251 2) societies with cash economies. The particularities of the articulation come both from the meaning of cattle in the pre-capitalised culture and the political- economic situation of colonisation (eg Murray 1981; Parkin 1980; Kuper 1963). What is common is that, although cattle and cash are commodities that both abstract and transact value, and although their circuits are interchangeable, they are never quite considered equal. Often cattle are imaginatively superior. It is as though cattle become symbolically laden tokens in “an attempt to dam the corrosive flow of cash. To force it to bear the imprint of human relations.” (J & J Comaroff 1990: 211). The Nuer, like the Iteso, also have a history in which cattle were commoditised through colonial planning. (Hutchinson 1996: 63). Yet in Nuerland cash entered a “weighted exchange system” in which cattle were the dominant metaphor of value. In addition money was symbolised in terms of cattle. When money crossed the boundary from the world of the market into the world of kinship, it did so as ‘cattle’. Here money was symbolised with metaphors from the issues of value and context in which it was placed so as to address the conflicts within. In Nuerland as in Teso, cattle and all they represented of ideologies of identity, household reproduction and ‘life’ were retained conceptually intact against the incursion of cash value. The economy of Teso as a whole continued to expand over and into independence. From the nineteen sixties until the nineteen eighties it was a region at the forefront of agricultural production (Edaku 1995: 118). At this time Teso had one of the highest rates of education and lowest death rate in Uganda (Otim 1996). Ninety two percent of the Teso population owned one or more cattle at this time (Ogajo 1995: 29). With some Itesot becoming prominent members of the postcolonial governments and large numbers of Itesot soldiers in the succeeding armies (O Connor 1988: 90) more financial resources were fed into Teso. Parallel with this economic success was a gradual strengthening of the desirability of cattle wealth and other forms of wealth over money. Money had been 252 experienced as an avenue of opportunity in education and as the purchase of material goods. However it was directly related to the increasingly fragile politics of Uganda in a way that cattle was not. Amin’s expulsion of the Asian trading class in 1972 exaggerated a post-colonial trend in Uganda of decreasing productivity, lack of managerial experience and funds (Jamal 1991: 85). Steep decline followed. Whereas GNP in Uganda had risen between 1965 and 1973, from 1973 to 1980 it fell at a rate of - 6.2 per cent, from 1980 until 1987 at a rate of - 2.4 per cent. Inflation in Uganda between 1965 and 1973 had been 5.6 per cent. Between 1973 to 1980 it was 45 per cent and 95 per cent between 1980 and 1987 (Lateef 1991: 21). Adding to this was the loss of foreign markets for the main export goods, coffee and cotton. From the Teso home perspective, money was coloured by such depression and lost its value. This devaluation of money was not only in its equivalency of price but in the contextual value it had gained in relation to cattle. Firstly, a point raised by men in Nyadar, money could no longer guarantee purchase. Not only were goods increasingly unavailable but money, wages or trade gains, was constantly devaluing and loosing its purchasing power. Secondly money lost value in terms of in terms of opportunity and potential. There was no assurance that the money of today would be the same as the money of tomorrow. Each new regime brought in new currency that, for villagers, rendered the previous one impotent without compensation. By the 1970s money had become both rare and vulnerable. Other trends in the Ugandan economy of the years between 1962 and 1985 bolstered the value of the wealth of cattle in Teso over the value of money. First, was the rapid growth of the informal economy in Uganda (Ochieng 1991: 43). To the side of the official markets where rates were controlled by government boards (both in the regimes of Amin and Obote II), was the unrestricted import and exchange of goods at higher rates. This was conducted in terms of foreign exchange and in terms of barter (Jamal 1991: 85). Second, were the growth of these barter exchanges, goods for goods rather than the mediation of money. This is a common economic trend in times of disaster and uncertainty (Hugh Parry & 253 Humprey 1993: 4). Third, as discussed in Chapter Three, was the shift in the balance of profit from export crops to food crops. Not only did export amounts fall due to a loss of infrastructure but their profit potential also fell in line with closing markets. Food crops came to represent a better source of income for farmers, as their prices rose and barter value increased. Overall then, a home with a wealth in agricultural products was in a far more viable position than a home with a wealth in money. Men in Nyadar explained that they extended the life of harvests by exchanging produce for cattle, which were less perishable and longer lasting. Land acted as the source of wealth and cattle the retainer of it. Money in this climate could not effect neither role nearly so well and so the Teso achieved their economic growth and ever impressive conditions of living despite the viscitudes of the national history around them. Wealth in Reconstruction: money The scale of the impact of conflict in Teso is given clearest illustration in the loss of cattle in the region. In 1957 there were recorded to be 700 000 heads of cattle in Teso, a greater cattle population than in any other district in Uganda (Griffiths 1958: 3).4 By 1991 there were only 10 000.5 When Anthony and Uchendu conducted a survey amongst 60 households in Serere in 1968, 75% of the households had a full team of four oxen. Of the 54 households in my survey in Otela village conducted in 1997, only 5% did (see Table 3.8, p. 149). These statistics speak of what, for people in Teso, is a devastating loss, of both material and phenomenological wealth. It is a deeply emotional loss because it affects valued ideas of identity and of an effective ‘way of life’ on a regional and personal level. During my fieldwork people in Nyadar stated that post-war reconstruction depended upon wealth and ideally ‘wealth’ should be cattle. They stated that until they regained cattle they would neither be fully productive in agriculture nor would homes be fully developed, reproduced and catered for. Cattle were desired for the recovery of households but also in the reconstruction of Teso as a whole. 254 For people used the metaphor of cattle as a memory of a former Teso glory. Teso was wealthy in cattle when Iteso were effective in the national affairs of Uganda, when they were rich and progressive. Since the war, a loss of cattle has coincided with Iteso impoverishment and marginalisation compared to other areas in the nation. A wealth in cattle represents a state of how things should be, both in terms of personal and national identity, and in terms of household reproduction. The Tshidi of South Africa are a society that have also lost a wealth in cattle. Cattle was vital to the pre-colonial Tshidi society, in the construction of gender roles and of structures of power and respect. Since colonialism the incursion of the market has been descimating. Herds have been commoditised and lost. Yet despite the penetration of cash into the needs of production and reproduction, Tshidi still invest cattle with immense value. They pay cash bridewealth in the name of “cattle without legs” the value of which is untouched by inflation. Cattle are a domain beyond the influence of market economics. They, like the Teso, thus retain the image of cattle holding, a state referred to with great longing, as the image of independence and wealth (J & J Comaroff 1990: 210).6 Whilst a wealth in cattle in still desired as an ideal in Teso, the impact of the war has brought deep changes in perception. First, through the conflict, people have experienced the vulnerability of cattle. Cattle were open to raiding and theft and brought threat to those near them, as did the possession of many other types of property. During my time in Nyadar, there were renewed though sporadic cattle raids by Karamojong. In one case thirty heads of cattle were captured from an Itesot man and taken over the border to Karamoja. This sparked a widespread sale of cattle in Nyadar with a preference to have a hold on money rather than cattle until things calmed down again. Money was valued as more easily concealed than cattle; it could be deposited and stored with relatives away from the area of attack. Money in its moveability and size provided its own security. Cattle, as desired by the Karamojong, did not. As it happened, government troops were moved into the area to prevent raids. In the guards of a militarised zone people brought cattle again. 255 Second, is an acknowledgment that people do not want large herds of cattle. People expressed a desire to not go back to the size of herds owned in the sixties and seventies. The quoted ideal for a home was four bulls for ploughing and two cows for calves and milk. For the present people saw too many other needs and priorities over and above the desire for large cattle herds. They wanted to replace clothes or ploughs, rebuild their homes to a desired standard, invest in business, have a change of diet and access to some luxury items and household goods. They wanted to have money for treating children, to buy bicycles that would open opportunities for travel and trade and still be left with shillings in the pocket to buy beer. A trade in cattle was still an important source of business for young men and they would strive to transfer bridewealth in terms of cattle. If they did not have a sister near to marrying, this would mean gathering cows together via their own financial efforts. However, as shown in the reduced and open-ended scale of bridewealth exchanges given in Chapter Three, a wealth in cattle is a more transient wealth than it ever used to be. Cattle are a fluctuating possession or investment, for needs of the present, rather than a large store of potential for the home. The possession of cattle represent a state of how things should be, where fathers can pay bridewealth for their sons and cement friendships with presentations of cattle. For the moment, people acknowledge that things are not quite there yet. In which context cattle are not quite so valuable and money is more essential. Third, is the perception that a majority of cattle in Teso at present are Karamojong cattle. Despite being the offspring and grand-offspring of raided Teso cattle it is generally contended that years in the hands of Karamojong has weakened the quality of cattle. They are more prone to disease and death. They are weaker and smaller. Karamojong cattle enter Itesot homes either as a gift by Karamojong to an Itesot ‘friend’ or having been brought in a market. Itesot cattle traders pride themselves on being able to buy a cheap and sick cow from the Karamojong, feeding it up and treating it for a couple of months, and selling it on as a healthy cow for a mark up price. There might then be cattle in a home but if they are 256 Karamojong cattle it significantly reduces their value. Villagers in Oditel could always tell me when they were eating the meat of a Karamojong cow as compared to an Itesot cow. The meat of Karamojong cattle was “tasteless and dull” - ipiana compared to the “sweetness and deliciousness” - eijijim of Iteso meat. Lastly, the re-accumulation of cattle is not the term by which people in Teso relate to the re-development of Uganda as a whole. In the past the ownership of cattle was, on local terms, the potential and opportunity of the home. On national terms it reflected the position of weight that Teso held in national affairs. Cattle were a wealth that mediated the economies of the both, whilst retaining the upper realm of value as a truly Itesot one. Today this articulation has shifted. As people in parishes like Nyadar struggle to rebuild their wealth, homes and ‘life’ they do so in the context of the deeply monetarism economy of Uganda. It has exaggerated one of the trends formed under colonialism where the chances of opportunity became monetarism. Through education and health care, a stake in the future is most immediately arrived at via money. In the era of post-war recovery in Nyadar it seems as though a wealth in cattle has been sidelined in favour of a wealth in money. Cattle remain an ideal but the working wealth for social and familial relationships is access to cash. Cattle are vulnerable to theft, they do not provide directly for the pressing needs of the moment. They generally come from the Karamojong. Meanwhile the perceived motor of development in Uganda is an increase in money. People in Nyadar therefore see that they will have power and efficacy in the post-war recovery of their homes and families if there is money. Money is the medium of influence and the medium that best describes a relationship between home and country. Money has become the acceptable and enviable wealth - ebaritas, of the post-war period. This is reflected in the following ways people talked about money during my fieldwork. People in Nyadar stated that money brought ‘assistance’ - aingarakina. With money, they said, it was possible to buy implements, ploughs, hoes and oxen that 257 take the burden off self and enable tasks to be better performed. Money is effective in the needs of health and nutrition, in treating children and getting them through schooling. Money “fights” the problems of the home and bolsters the security of families. It helps and enables; it assists. People in Nyadar also described money as ‘strong’ - i gogon. Having money was understood as the ability to fulfill desire. Money “does anything that you want.” With it you can buy anything that you want. Money allows personal efficacy in the material and social world. Money, people said, ‘hurries’ things along, it ‘speeds up’ - liwonyara, actions and events. The oft-quoted example was of when a child was sick and there was money in the home, the child could be ‘hurried’ to the clinic for treatment. It was not only in individual events that money held momentum. Money ‘moves life’ - aitolot aijar, in general. If ‘life’ is a progression in terms of material and social development and the knowledge of personal effectiveness, then the possession of money is an ability to move along and with the tracks of ‘life’. So a girl of nineteen, an unmarried mother with one child, explained as we held a group discussion on the subject of money in Oditel: “I feel so sad when I don’t have money because it seems as if everything in life just flows before you at eye sight; flows, flows. I feel happy when there is money because everything that passes my eye, I just run-run for it, anything, any beautiful thing. I run for it. That’s when I feel happy because of money.” Adongo Joyce, 19, Oditel, 17.5.97 Money is a force of connection in ‘life’, in time. For money was seen to buy ‘happiness’ - aiyalama. It does so by fulfilling the desires of the heart and causing the heart to be glad. A lack of money was said to lead to sadness, depression and worry. The combination of which composes the feared disease of ‘thoughts in the heart’ - aomisio. Money and its lack controls emotion and bears on the feelings of integrity as a person. 258 Money and Cattle: continuity and change For reasons of necessity and pragmatics, money rather than cattle holds a central place in economic perception and practice in Nyadar in the post-war period. On the one hand this represents a distinct shift in cultural praxis. There are many in Nyadar who voice the opinion that there should be no return to the large herds of previous decades. This argument was illustrated in a debate held by youth in Nyadar quoted at the beginning of the chapter. This debate is echoed on a regional scale. In the 1996 conference ‘Teso Steps Forward With Peace’, organised by the PCT there were those who argued that until Teso was re-stocked there would continue to be food insecurity and cultural impoverishment. Yet there were equally strong voices by those who stated people should be encouraged to invest in banks and buildings and that a return to cattle would bring environmental degradation and financial stagnation. The shift in perception and practice to money is clear. Yet, on the other hand, it is a shift that is part of a long-term historical relationship between money and cattle that precedes the conflict period. And it is a shift that occurs within culturally consistent notions; money is valued for its ability to fulfill the characteristics of ebaritas ‘wealth’. As will be shown below the way money is used and conceptualised in Nyadar shows that this praxis resonates with important cultural ideas of personhood, cosmology, social relationships and ‘life’ itself. MAKING, USING AND UNDERSTANDING MONEY IN THE POST-WAR PERIOD It is a basic anthropological assumption that the value attributed to money is something other than its price and that the value of money is contextually constructed and thus potentially culturally embedded (Alexander & Alexander 1991: 493).7 This is evidenced in the various symbolic representations that money has been given as it has encountered in non- capitalist societies around the world. 259 These metaphors of value that have been recorded for money have some similar traits. First they are created from the cultural matrix within which money is functioning. Symbolic elaboration draws upon a worldview of the society in question. This might be a world view retained from a traditional past or one influenced by the articulation of the present into wider economies and structures (Toren 1989:142). Second, symbolic definitions, evoke moralities. Rather than being an agent that is destructive of traditional moralities, money is often used in ways circumscribed by indigenous and strengthened moral arenas. Third this symbolism of money then dictates its place into “weighted exchange systems” (Hutchinson 1996: 98) so that money is given specific uses. Bloch and Parry (1989: 23) argue that in all cases making money symbolically meaningful acts to link two transactional spheres. By acting in the short-term individual interest whilst symbolically elaborated money can also perpetuate longer-term social and cosmological reproduction. The use of money on one plain can perpetuate or restore values on another. For symbols are effective. Symbolising money with metaphors worked from the cultural context serves to address the issues of value within that context. This is shown in Shipton’s study of the use of money amongst the Luo of Kenya. The Luo used the term ‘bitter money’ to refer to monetary profit gained from morally suspect activities. These transactions held moral seizure, he suggests, because they involved selling items (such as land, hens, tobacco) in which a group had rights and thus transforming group claim into individual profit. The money gained from such sales was thought of as ‘bitter’ and potentially dangerous to the holder unless ritually cleansed and redistributed. ‘Bitter money’ marks a transgression over boundaries. It is money acquired in ways that threaten kinship and communal relations of control By marking it as dangerous Shipton suggests that the Luo did not merely resisting the encroachment of market values into their world domains, they dealt and engaged with them. They placed conceptual cordons between spheres of exchange and imposed values that serve to accentuate the importance of pre-colonial ties and commitments and to sanction involvement in new types of exchange. They were able to be involved and yet to preserve at the same time. In Nyadar, money is at the heart of the reproduction of the society in the post-war period. People in Nyadar have given high value to money as fundamental to their ability to reconstruct ‘life’ and to ‘go forward’. This marks a break in conceptions of ‘wealth’ - ebaritas, of which cattle was, previous to the conflict, the highest expression. The post-war use of money thus marks a historical innovation with the potential to cause social change. Yet, by looking at the various representations given to money and the specific ways in which it is used in Nyadar it is possible to see that there are cultural principles that are being preserved and engaged within this process. I consider first the principles of money making by drawing on the life histories of five young people in Nyadar, who having lived their childhood’s during the conflict, now set on the process of being itunanak and growing up - apolor, working towards their adult households. Second I consider the representations given to money. Case Studies Ebulu John Aged 18. At the age of eight (1988) Ebulu started a series of refugee migrations. First his family moved off their land in Nyadar to come into Oditel due to Karamojong raiding. They moved to Soroti, to another camp and back to Oditel in 1991. He returned home in 1994. He completed one year of senior school whilst in Oditel but stopped due to lack of fees and decided to pursue business. He started his business in 1994 at the age of 14. He was given 10 000/= from his sister. Her bridewealth cows would have been the ones used for Ebulu to marry but Karamojong had raided them. He invested his money in agriculture and planted cassava and sorghum to sell. He also bought a pig and then sold it in the market for meat. After eight months he had accumulated 50 000/= profit. He asked the husband of his sister to combine with him in business and together they bought a bull from the Karamojong for 150 000/=. They sold it at 200 000/= and reinvested the money in cattle over and again until they both came away in 1996 with 200 000/= each. Ebulu decided to marry and having agreed with his girlfriend’s 261 parents, went to Soroti and bought a bicycle. This he exchanged with the Karamojong for a bull and then bought a cow with part of his remaining money. His brother-in-law gave him the money to buy another cow that he sold for a profit. The father of his girlfriend accepted the bull, the cow and 110 000/= and Ebulu married in 1997. He bought a bicycle. He also gave his father-in-law five goats. Meanwhile Ebulu had been given a chicken by his grandmother. When it produced he sold the chicks and with the money bought two goats. These in turn produced until he had five goats. To start in business again he went to ask his maternal aunt for a loan. This he invested in cattle, gaining enough money to pay back his aunt her loan, to buy a bull for the home for ploughing and to cany on in business. He also made money from agriculture. His plan, at the time of my fieldwork, was to finish paying his bridewealth, another two cows, to marry in church and to build a permanent home for his family. His wife gave birth to their first baby in 1998. Naka Moses Aged 22 years old. In 1993 Moses had just started secondary school in Oditel where he had lived since 1989. His father was unable to raise the school fees to complete his first year. At the same time his girlfriend became pregnant and he had to make a choice whether to struggle to raise money either to continue his education or to marry his girlfriend and to start a home. He chose to marry and went to his mother who was living in Soroti at the time and asked whether he could have some money to start a business. She gave him 9 000/=. He also got 6 OOOM from selling some stored sorghum. At the same time Moses’s elder brother was a Cathehist in the Catholic Mission and had an allowance of 20 000/= per month as well as use of a bicycle. Most of his money he was spending on drink but one day a good friend of his, came and sat down to talk with him. He “gave him the idea” (eoun ngesi aomisio ejokuna) that instead of drinking all his allowance he should invest it in a shop keeping business. The two brothers combined forces, Moses contributing his 15 000/= and his brother 40 000/=. Moses borrowed his brother’s bicycle went to Soroti and with their capital brought back 5 bars of soap, five litres of paraffin, 3 packets of matches, 5 packets of cigarettes, 6 plates and one packet of needles which they sold from his hut in the camp. After a month they had made a profit of 25 000/= with Moses continuing to make trips to Soroti. With the continuing profit they rented a house for the shop at the front of the street and began to build their own shop. They brought building materials cheaply from former government soldiers who were being give such materials as a retrenchment package. 1994 was, however, a very ‘dry’ year and they made little money and what they did Moses used on starting to pay his bridewealth. He went back to the village and planted millet and sorghum. One night he had a dream, which gave him the idea of selling all his family’s excess produce in Soroti. He made a profit of 60 000/= with which he could re open the shop and it went from strength to strength. By 1996 he had made friends with the driver of the pick-up truck who allowed him free transport to and from Soroti meaning that he no longer had to go by bike. This coincided with him having an argument with his brother who continued to drink 262 much of the shop’s profits. They separated, his brother remaining in the built shop and Moses moved to rent a premises near the center of the camp. With money from the shop’s profits he paid labourers to plough, sow, weed and harvest a large garden of groundnuts. He and his wife shelled the entire 25 sacks harvested and Moses took them to sell in Soroti on the pick-up. He made a profit of 350 000/= all of which he invested in merchandise for the shop. At the time of my fieldwork he was taking 15 to 50 000/= per day in his shop. Subsequent to leaving Nyadar I had news that Moses had been taken to prison. A fellow shopkeeper who claimed that Moses had failed to pay back a loan had apparently, taken him to local L.C. leaders. At the hearing Moses is reported to have said that if anyone else came pestering him for money then he wouldn’t be afraid to get out his gun and shoot them. The LC leaders decided that Moses was a threat to the community and took him to the police station in Soroti where he was detained for three months, beaten and reportedly tortured. He secured his release by paying a bribe to the police officials. On release he wrote me a letter in which he claimed that his misfortune was due to people’s jealousy of him. He returned to Oditel to find that his brother has taken most of the stock from his shop. He is now, apparently, in the process of rebuilding his business. Agouti Pettua Aged 22 years old. Her father’s land is in Nyadar but they moved in 1982 to stay with her mother’s kin in south Teso after a Karamojong raid on their home. She returned to Oditel in 1994 with her family and they still live in the camp. Her mother who brewed beer paid her primary school fees. She paid the first year of her secondary school fees herself by brewing beer. Her father’s sister son paid her second year school fees. She remained at home for a year in 1994 when the family returned to Oditel as there was no money for school fees. In 1995 she had raised enough money by brewing beer to go back to school and got some help from her mother’s brother and her boyfriend to finish her S4 exams. In 1996 she became pregnant and her father died. Her elder brother chased her away from home but allowed her back on the condition that she alone would raise money to bring up the child. Her boyfriend gave her 15 000/= when the baby was bom in 1997 but has not seen her since. She bought a goat and made money from brewing beer. She used the money to buy clothes and medicine for her baby. She also got money from her best friend who has a boyfriend earning in Kampala and from her sisters who helped her occasionally. At the time of fieldwork, she had her own garden on her father’s land and grew crops for sale. She went work for money on other people’s gardens and sold handicrafts. Her child died in 1998 and she was planning to go back to college. Magoro Grace Aged 20 years old. Grace’s father lives in Nyadar and they came to live in the camp in 1989 when Grace was eleven. At the age of 14 she started a relationship with a soldier in the camp who gave her money to brew beer. The soldier left soon afterwards and she was married to a man in the camp. Rebels killed him in 1994. 263 Grace continued her beer brewing and became one of the most successful businesswomen in Oditel. She had no children and no further permanent relationships with men. Her brothers moved back to their fathers land and she remained in Oditel to pursue her business. She used the money she raised in 1995 to marry a wife for the older of her brothers and was planning to do the same for the second brother. Otherwise she reinvested her money in brewing and brought clothes. Ekaru Lawrence Aged 20 years old. Lawrence lived in the camp from 1989 until 1992 and then moved back to his land. His father was killed by soldiers whilst they were in the camp. Lawrence formed an aleya group with two friends and they teamed to work on each other’s fields a day at a time. He also laboured on other people’s gardens for money, aipakas. He sold a harvest of cowpeas. The next year he made friends with a Karamojong who lent him two bulls for ploughing. He bought seed with the money from the harvest of the year before and with his friends grew sorghum and cowpeas. With profit from this he bought a bicycle a mattress and sheets. The next year he used bulls from a government project for widows and orphans to plough his gardens. He also hired them out to other people and got enough money to buy a goat. He sold his crops and bought another goat. In 1996 he grew rice and made 35 000/=. Together with his friends he used his money and his goats to exchange for a bull. He and his friends started making bricks for sale. He bought clothes, another goat. At the time of fieldwork he hoped to exchange his goats for a cow and to marry. Principles of making and using money These case studies show young people Nyadar making money through the same resources that sustain both the household economy and the processes of being itunanak. There is reliance on agriculture as a source of capital and investment in livestock. Young people take part in the local economy of waged labour. They also exploit the trade niches afforded by the marginalised position of Nyadar, as discussed in Chapter Three. Thus Stephen can ride to Soroti, return to Oditel and sell cigarettes at a marked-up price whilst under-cutting other shop keepers by his friendship with one of the suppliers in town who gives him a discount. Lawrence can take his rice to sell for a better price than that given by the middlemen who drive up to Oditel, Pettua can barter a hen for millet. There are opportunities for enterprise and innovation and these are taken up to fulfill a desire for money. Enterprise is increasingly rewarding as the area becomes more peaceful and prosperous (Brett 1996: 217). 264 Beyond this, what is noticeable in the way that money is made and used in Nyadar is that people rely upon relationships in order to get money and money is used in the maintenance of those relationships. First, money is used in the reproduction of households and a ‘way of life’ in post-war recovery for it is channeled into marriage obligations. As elaborated in Chapter three, the structure of marriage and bridewealth was retained through the conflict and into the recovery period despite the lack of cattle. Such obligations frame the direction in which money from the household and from the efforts of young men is committed in the post conflict period. Thus Ebulu’s sister substituted stolen cattle with money, Moses seeks to pay bridewealth in cattle and Pettua was chased away from the home for disrupting acceptable patterns of bridewealth exchange. The retention of marriage transactions provides structural bridges along which money can be directed and redistributed; money thus works at the heart of social reproduction. Second, money works in the fulfilling of relationships between people. People in Nyadar state that two emotions dictate the quality and type of relationships between people. These are jealousy - ilalakara, and love - amina. Both are materially expressed. Jealousy connects to the desire for property and stimulates violence, witchcraft and material loss. In comparison the emotion of interpersonal love is connected to material gain for love is materially articulated. As a secondary school students wrote in her autobiography:8 “I am an African girl and my father really loves me; when I was at school in Mbale he used to send me pocket money and I could use that money with my friends at school.” Anyilo Ester, 14, Achumet Secondary School, 29.11.97 As such, love can be used as a resource for gain and is, often explicitly so.9 In recovering from the war parents have relied on the ‘love’ of their children to fund them with a first oxen or a first item of clothing. Children have relied on the love of friends and parents for capital and assistance. So Pettua gains money from her 265 best friend who loves her who, in turn, receives it from a boyfriend acting on love. Money gains value by its role in expressing such love. To be loved is to gain money, which ‘sweetens’ the heart and to be in a relationship that gives access to monetary power. Love, in Nyadar, connects self to other and, via connecting money to emotion, it links interpersonal relations to intrapersonal states. Third, money works to forge connections between people and does so through systems of debt and credit. The sums of money given in love are referred to as ‘gifts’. The word ainakina means ‘to give a gift’, it also means ‘to breast feed’, just as ainakin refers to a ‘gift’ and ‘breast milk’. The concept implied here is that a gift is something non returnable. It has a one way direction but will pay off in the future. A gift nourishes and ‘keeps’. In contrast there were monetary transfers that constitute a loan - ikopaikin. These create a debt, pesan, which has to be immediately worked at to repay - aitach. So Ebulu, for example, had a loan from his aunt. There existed a complex web of debt and credit relations throughout Nyadar. Many of these stemmed from the ten or so shop keepers who kept written records of debts owed to them. Debt and credit were a strategy of interconnectedness and effected redistribution of monetary resources around Nyadar. People would loan money to create debts amongst a host of others in a form of patronage but also to tie in the financial fortunes of those others to oneself. The repayment of debt was also strategic. People would keep the debt open until another favour was to be asked. They would pay back the debt, implying trustworthiness, and immediately ask for more credit. Credit was paid back without interest but in giving credit one was depositing an investment in the recovery of the fortunes of others. Not that debt and credit were unproblematic; they were run through with power lines so that men would often drink beer on credit from women and never pay it back and, as the case of Moses showed, contested debt was a source of great tension in the society. Money is instrumental in forging relations and also serves to constitute personal identity. It does so through the consumer power it confers. In relating their life histories, those in the case studies outlined above were keen to stress the consumer 266 goods they had brought. Like ideas of property, ideas about consumption are salient in Iteso imagination as to what it is to be a person of ‘life’. Idioms of consumption are idioms used to express the morality of actions and events; thus moral categories used in Nyadar are ‘sweet’ - ejijim, ‘tasteless’ - ipiana, or ‘bitter’ - eduware.10 These are more than descriptive moral categories, they relate to the way in which an event is experienced. For the Iteso, events impact on a personal and sensory level; they are internalised and act on the body just as food is consumed and stimulates a feeling of enjoyment or distaste. The act of consumption is central to the way in which the Iteso see people make an emotional response to the events and objects that surround them. The connection between consumption and self, consumption and personhood is recognised in the prominence that people in Nyadar paid to descriptions of individual identity in terms of what and how other people consume. Daily conversation was full of comments on what, how much, with whom and how people in the parish ate. This was more than description, it was a discourse of character. It was also a discourse that articulated the impact of events on people. Consumption is seen to mediate and describe the relationship between history and persons. Thus the following story, the words of Usula, aged 10 who was talking of ‘Changes Brought by War’ during a theme session I held with her class in Oditel primaiy school: “Those of Erigu [her cousin’s family] were living in Moroto at that time [of war], whereby they used to struggle for food. Whoever delayed to wash hands would not get food because the people eating would not wait for them, so that meant one would sleep hungry. They used to eat one meal a day and it was usually in the evenings. The quantity of food served was much, but it was never enough to satisfy the people eating. This led to those of Erigu learning to eat very fast and up to now he still practices it. He never eats normally like other people.” Usula Achung, aged 10, Oditel, 20.12.96 It is not only food that affects the state and identity of persons in Teso, so too does the possession of property and material wealth (cf Mazrui 1991: 354). The 267 comparison of the propertied state of homes was also a popular topic of conversation, who owned what and how and when they had acquired it. There were situations in Nyadar when I would be shown past photographs, photographs of people but it was the property and clothes that would be commented upon. Amongst migrant boys from Nyadar in Kampala we would look at photographs of when they had still been village boys: “You see me then; no shoes, no jacket. I think I’m a different person now.” Property reflects a state of personal identity and consumption reflects a change of that state.11 The act of acquisition of property and ongoing use, its consumption, is an act of volition in one’s or someone else’s personal state, one with deeply emotional resonance. As discussed in Chapter Two, people in Nyadar also related their patterns of consumption to a collective identity as being Itesot in the context of Uganda as a whole. There was frequent contrast made between the eating habits of Itesot compared to those the Karamojong. Karamojong were said to eat potatoes without peeling them, “like animals”, drink blood and never washed their hands before they ate, unlike the Iteso. Likewise the Karamojong were said not to wear proper clothes, not use proper houses or cooking utensils or know how to use bicycles. These were comments in the discourse of ‘modernity’ and ‘civilisation’ which the Iteso take as a fundamental part of their collective identity. One of the most frequent markers through which people in Nyadar evaluated the process of recovery was through the materiality of the process and increasingly prevalence of property and consumer goods. Each new act of consumption was a statement of collective identity, against a condition of ‘backwardness’ as illustrated by the Karamojong and part of a process of becoming ‘up to date’ on a national level. It was also a statement of personal emotion, of the ‘sweetness’ of an ability to consume. In Nyadar consumption was, as Miller (1987: 190-192) has put it, constitutive of social identity. Each new act of consumption re-appropriated what had been alien, denied and lost during the conflict, into the inalienable and thereby re-affirmed the collective and personal identity of the people involved. 268 Consumption located self in the historical changes afoot and money, as the tool of consumption, was thereby involved in the personal efficacy of identity creation. Representations of Money The way in which money is used and made locates it at the heart of processes fundamental to principles of sociality, identity and personhood in Teso. This is borne out in the values, representations and symbolism accorded to money in Nyadar. “Emamete jo isirigin mam do ijo irai Hungarian” “Without money you are not a person”. This saying often concluded conversations on the struggle and desire for money amongst people in Nyadar, it brought nodded appreciated and empathy amongst the group. In it money is being referred to on the very same terms as the concept of wealth, ebaritas, as being at the root of personhood. It confirms that money is seen as a tool of personal effectiveness and a token of identity. Money offers a potential hold on the movements of the world. To lack money is to be impeded in personal choices, decisions and emotions. To lack money is to see a future evolving without the inclusion of self. Money is seen as essential to be able to play a full part in the recovery and reproduction of “life”. “Emamete isirigin, ejaissi aronis” “The lack of money is the root of all evil”. This play on a biblical saying was a phrase was posted above shop doors and on bar walls in Oditel. It was used to justify struggles in enterprise and the relentless pursuit of moneymaking opportunities. In one sense people used the saying to express the understanding that poverty, a lack of wealth, was the root cause of what was perceived as social problems. It was poverty that turned people into thieves, murderers and prostitutes and ostracised them out of the community. It 269 was poverty that brought hardship, struggle and sickness. In another sense, was implied that a lack of money equates to a literal and metaphorical death. Aronis translates as ‘bad happening’ ‘evil’ ‘problem’ ‘funeral’ and ‘death’. People often attributed an early death of a member of the community to the straits of impoverishment brought by the war. But the lack of money was also a symbolic death; the death of desire and choice of efficacy, a death compared to the full potential o f‘life’. The representations given to money thus confirmed that it was a tool that confirmed and enabled personal ‘life’. That sense of agency was also one that involved a relationship to the state. Another expression said of money in Nyadar was: “Isirigin lu Museveni araissi bala erit lu akwap.” “The money of Museveni is like grains of dust in the earth”. This was the line of a song that was introduced through the national curriculum to the primaiy schools in Nyadar. It portrayed that, under Museveni, money had become infinitely available, and there was no limit. Within weeks it had taken on an ironic slant amongst the population. People in Nyadar imputed it with the meaning that however good having to get money might be in theory, to get Museveni’s money you had to struggle in the earth and even then it was liable to run out of your hand like grains of sand. People in Nyadar often spoke of history in terms of the relationship that they had had to money under various regimes. Many had kept the notes and coins of former currencies. Relative values and strengths were compared and characterised. So the money of the colonial regime - isirigin lu imusugut , was “stable”. The money of Obote - isirigin lu Obote , was “strong”; one shilling could buy something that thousands would be paid for today. Former rebels would dig out old notes of Obote’s time of government and announce that they had fought to reinstate such money. The money of Amin - isirigin lu Amin , was awolio “lost/not seen”; a time 270 when barter proliferated and cash lost value in inflation and along side black market prices. The money of Museveni - isirigin lu Museveni , was “a struggle” to acquire. Here was an understanding that money was a direct correlate of the historical government under which it was introduced. People in Nyadar visualised a president with a money making machine in his private house so that he could dispense it to his friends and allies and prevent it from entering the hands of political opponents. Money was created and available in terms of the history of the state; new regimes bought in new currencies. Access to money was determined by a historical position within that state. Obote’s money had come easily. Museveni’s money provoked a struggle. In speaking of their struggle to acquire Museveni’s money, people in Nyadar were referring their political marginalisation within Uganda, a marginalisation that paralleled the economic degradation and the loss of wealth. The ability to fund ‘life’ through money depended upon histories of national power and state structures. “Isirigin lu epalal.” “Wet/rich money”. In Nyadar people would sometimes refer to ‘wet/rich money’ - isirigin lu epalal. The creation of money in Nyadar was coupled to agriculture and livestock, the sale of which could yield profit, ameda. This was a chain of increase in which the fertility of crops and livestock was harnessed to gain profit. In such a chain a sum of money passed through different states, at one stage it was cash in the hand, at another it took the form of growing crops or producing animals and at another the form of profit. It was a chain much symbolised in talk and perception. Cash invested in agriculture was referred to as ‘sowing money’ - aira isirigin. A field of cash crops was referred to as ‘wet money’ - isirigin lu epalal. This was in comparison to money and profit which was ‘dry’ - aisek. Money was by definition ‘dry’, it looked and felt like paper and dry in that without endeavor it would not increase. Money gained power in becoming ‘wet’. 271 ‘Wetness’ - epalal is a vital principal in Iteso life. It is understood to give rise to fertility. ‘Wetness’ is the substance of social life that allows increase, productivity and success. ‘Wetness’ encompasses rain, and semen, both edou. Thus in traditional rain making ceremonies of the past, an Iteso community was acting for the fertility of land and person. Without ‘wetness’ there is no growth, no increase and no wealth. Epalal also translates as ‘rich’. To comment “s/he is rich/wet” - “epalal n g esf\ is to comment that someone’s actions and lives are fertile and full. In the concept of ‘wet money’ was a recognition of the creative force that personal and local intervention could bring to bear upon the substance, money, which so affected identity and ‘life’. ‘Wet money’ credited an indigenous power in the struggle towards the acquisition of wealth. CONCLUSION The conflict in Nyadar brought material, economic and social loss, ichan. The case studies clearly show the loss of people and securities that would have enhanced potential and invested in futures; for Lawrence the loss of his father, Ebulu the loss of his bridewealth cattle and for Magoro the loss of men who might have constituted a home. People in Nyadar recognise this is a loss of wealth, ebaritas. In Iteso perception the loss of cattle is the loss of property contributing to identity, a way of life and personal efficacy. With the loss of cattle social assets have been diminished and with this has come a concentration on households and individuals, especially itunanak, to forge an economic path of recovery. Money has become a crucial instrument in this recovery. In many ways this marks a break from traditional forms of wealth - ebaritas, in Teso, most notably cattle. There are four words in Ateso that denote money. ‘ Apesa’ is of Kiswahili origin. ‘KapurC a Buganda term. ‘Shilling ’ the use of the first unit of currency introduced by the British colonial administration throughout the East African Community. "Isirigin' derives from the English ‘Shilling’. Its literal meaning is ‘blessing’, a 272 conflation that was effected in the translation of the Bible in Ateso in 1915. What is common in these terms (which are interchangeable) is that either linguistically or conceptually money has foreign origin. Money is seen to have been received on the waves of pre and post-colonial influence, to be granted by higher authorities either political or spiritual. The entry point for money into Teso was at the point of outside control and infrastructure; when the British took over Kakungulu’s administration they paid firstly Bugandan and later Itesot chiefs, with monied wages. Throughout the colonial and postcolonial history money has remained peripheral to cattle as a notion of wealth. Today however people in Nyadar talk about, make and use money in ways that fully resonate with conceptions of wealth and more broadly with local understandings of sociality, identity and ‘life’, which are at the heart of the process of post-war recovery. Money gains its value and worth from these contexts. Money is fed into processes of household reconstruction and reproduction, of being itunanak. At the same time it articulates principles of collective and personal identity and efficacy. Money in Nyadar is ‘Museveni’s money’, it links people to the national structure, at the same time it allows efficacy in consumption, which is at the heart of personal identity. Money unites the loci of post-war recovery - the national level, the household level and the personal level. At the same time, it is passed through stages of being ‘wet money’, through indigenous abilities and resources. This provides the terms on which people in Nyadar engage with post-war recovery; recovery which is based on the money of a president who is seen to have brought the impoverishment in the first place. Money conserves key components of historical Iteso identity in the ever more necessary engagement with national structures. Money is as much a part of Iteso cultural praxis as cattle has been in the past. In this way although the substance of wealth has undergone significant change in the post-war period there is consistency in cultural representations and moralities. In Nyadar, however, as in many societies around the world (Maclean 1994: 670; Gell 1986; Miller 1987: 64), placing money at the centre of social reproduction is 273 an ambivalent process. For the use of money has the potential to create social change. Simmel (1978: 307) saw this social change as an enhancement of the principal of objectification upon which he saw all culture and social life to be based. He saw money as potentially separating subject from object and thus self from other. Simmel saw this as offering potential for freedom and equality away from the bounds of tradition and kinship. Simmel recognized, however, that the increased distance enabled by money could cause senses of alienation and powerlessness. In separating the sense of being from the notion of having Simmel saw that money could encourage individual greed and a sense of personal insignificance for those who did not possess it. Despite Simmers formulation, in Nyadar money does in fact serve to maintain, forge and fulfill relationships, relationships that are at the heart of socio-cultural ‘life’. Nevertheless people in the parish well recognise the change and tensions forged by social reproduction based on money. First, the possession of money is seen to hold the danger of the jealousy - ilalakara, of other people. Concern about jealousy was widespread in Nyadar, particularly in Oditel. It was an emotion that was seen to go hand in hand with action, usually violent action. Both witchcraft and violence were blamed on jealousy and each resulted in loss. Jealousy was seen to stem from inequalities in society and led to physical or spiritual violence which leveled those inequalities. People worried about the jealousy of the Karamojong if Iteso were to gain cattle again, about the jealousy of the spirits of people killed in the war who had not had chance to rebuild their lives, about the jealousy of neighbours if there was a particularly good harvest or if their household was particularly successful. There was a fear of theft, illness and even death as the outcome of these jealousies. Fearful of jealousy, members of the community would try to downplay their access to money. The richest shopkeepers would dress in the shabbiest clothes. Profit might be kept out of sight as ‘dry’ money rather than shown out as ‘wet’. There was an uneasy tension between a reliance on wealth, the desire for consumption and a fear of jealousy. 274 Secondly, a reliance on money was seen to hold the danger of Aids. People commented, “that disease loves where money is” - “emina edeka ngol aboisit nu isirigin ” and held that it was usually the richer members of the community that were victims of Aids. In a society where Aids hit the economically active, especially those with links to urban centers and where the dispersal of Aid was associated with prostitution and the army, Aids was seen to be attracted to the places of excess money because with that excess, money was thought to be wrongly channeled. Instead of love expressed with money, a love of money was seen to result in a raw purchase of sex and danger. Third and related to this were the frequent accusations (discussed in Chapter Three) that men made of economically independent women, unmarried mothers, that they were the main source of the spread of Aids in the society. Behind this were perhaps unspoken tensions that with the loss of cattle and the move to money women could be as ‘wealthy’ and economically successful as men. Whereas cattle were a wealth which mediated power balances between men and women under the authority of men, men and women could hold cash equally. Disputes over the distribution of money within a household between husband and wife were the source of considerable tension. Money was easily concealed and easily stolen alike. People in Nyadar saw that money, the potential source of so many of the qualities of ‘life’, could in its accumulation lead to the complication and even loss of ‘life’ itself. The economic process of recovery was poised between the two and held inherent danger. People attempted to strategies against the jealousy of others, the love of money railed against by church preachers and traditional healers alike. There was no avoiding, however, that the process of recovery held within itself the seeds of further destruction. For people in Nyadar post-war recovery has no coherent end amidst the ambiguities, losses, hardships and vagrancy’s of ‘life’ itself. Money could ‘assist’ on the way but a society increasingly founded on money held inherent contradictions and dangers. 275 276 1 Emudong (1974) bases this assertion on a study of pre colonial legal system amongst the Teso. He contrasts the punishment awarded for murder with the punishment awarded for theft and states that after murder the priority was not compensation but reconciliation between the ateker of the disputing persons. A feast would be called by the ateker of the murderer to which the ateker of the murdered were invited. An independent elder {ekeratari) effected arbitration and resolution. The aim was an achievement of harmony. Later the murdered individual would be ‘replaced’ by calling a child after them in the ateker of the murderer. No punishment was handed to the perpetrator. Emudong contrasts this treatment with that accorded to thieves noting if a thief was caught they would be killed outright. Their death was not regarded, they were not even buried. There was no ceremony of cleansing between the ateker and the dispute would rankle until the ateker of the thief gave adequate compensation for the stolen property. Emudong relates the seriousness of the punishment for theft compared to that for murder, to the significance that the Iteso attached to the possession of property. However his analysis disregards indications that murder had to be compensated in Teso, as in other African societies, through blood wealth transfers (Lawrence 1953: 257). 2 As Hutchinson (1996) describes for the Nuer and the Comaroffs (1990) for the Twsana. 3 The ruins of these buildings still stand in Soroti today and are nicknamed “Meatpackers”. The ruins have recently be purchased and are being turned into a fruit canning industry. 4That year 45 000 cattle were exported to markets in Mbale, Busoga and Buganda. In 1957 the total value of the sale of cattle inside and outside the district was £2 000 000 (Griffiths 1958: 3) 5Presidential Commission for Teso Survey 1991. People in Nyadar would point out the bushiness of their homeland, an overgrowth new to Teso since the loss of cattle which previously would have kept it well cropped. People point this out as a comment on the loss of condition of the area as a whole. 7Both Simmel’s exchange theory of value and Marx’s (1887) labour theory of value recognise that though money acts as a commodity representing price, money exists in systems that determine its role and value. However the fetished quality of money ensures that the price which will always be a fiction of the actual contexts which constitute its real significance, role, force and value. However Marx and Simmel differ in where they see that the value of money lies; for Marx the value of money lay in the sociopolitical systems of capitalism, for Simmel the value of money is in its ability to exchange and connect commodities in realms of desire. 8 See Appendix Five. 9 As one secondary school student put it: “When I reached about five years of age I started learning my parents, how they speak and who loved me the most and their characters. Whereby I realised that the mother loves me more whereas the father hates me abit because he is a drunkard and can slap me for nothing and can drink all the money. My mother liked me so much, she was always giving me milk to drink in a small calabash. Now when I need assistance I go to my mother.” 10Thus, for example, going to the market to buy new clothes is ‘sweet’, going to a home and finding no one there is ‘tasteless’ and having to go and labour on someone’s gardens in aipakas is ‘bitter’. 11 As stated in Chapter Four the possessive ‘mine’ in Ateso is lo ka, literally ‘of me’. 277 278 * \>LZ A young man stands with his newly acquired bull. acquired newly his with stands man young A Plate 11: WET MONEY WET 11: Plate harvesting and sale. and harvesting Young man in a garden of ground-nuts ready for for ready ground-nuts of garden a in man Young t. 2 80 Chapter Six EMOTIONAL RECOVERY When people in Nyadar talked about the material and economic loss sustained by the conflict they used the word ichan. In the previous chapters I have considered the ways in which in Nyadar have recovered from the material impact of the war. Yet ichan , ‘poverty’ also expresses the emotional and psychological aspect of loss, ‘suffering’. Similarly when people use the expression ‘to make life comfortable’ - itelakarit aijar, to describe the processes of recovery, they referred to both material and emotional comfort. There is recognition that the processes of post war recovery are as much about addressing the ongoing emotional impact of people’s experiences as well as the straights of material impoverishment. Recreating ‘life’ is as much about restoring an emotional capacity to be an effective person as it is about restoring a material capacity. This chapter will focus upon the emotional impact of the conflict for people in Nyadar and the attempts they make to engage with these consequences. No young person in Nyadar escaped the conflict without witnessing violence and experiencing deep fear. Often the first memory of the young people with whom I worked was of fleeing into the bush to hide from Karamojong raiders. Scenes of powerlessness and loss characterized the early lives of young people. Autobiographical pictures drawn by members of church youth groups show images of murder and destruction and suggest only the narrowest of survival.1 Autobiographical writing emphasis childhoods lived in conditions of pain and hurt, the utter disturbance of conditions of security. During my time in Nyadar young people continued to grapple with the memory, emotional impact and psychological consequences of these experiences. 281 This chapter focuses on the understandings of such distress for people in Nyadar and, importantly, how they themselves cope with it. There is recognition that the post conflict period involves important emotional aspects, both the ongoing emotional impact of conflict and the processes of healing and recovery of these. In psychological parlance this chapter is a concern with issues of trauma and distress. My concern, however, to make such processes intelligible, not through reference to theories of PTSD from a western psychological tradition as discussed in the Introduction, but through situated analysis, with reference to the cultural and historical context and to local ideas of what it is to be an emotional person. In order to do this I follow the framework suggested by Summerfield, Bracken and Gillier (1995: 1077) which must incorporate the subjective meaning of violence and trauma, the way in which distress associated with violence is experienced, reported and managed, the type and extent of support available and the type of a therapy available and appropriate. This chapter will consider the emotional impact of the war through the terms in which people in Nyadar understand that impact themselves To do this I follow Zur and Green’s call for an anthropology of the “lived experience” of political conflict as an emotional and embodied history rather than purely political event (Zur 1993: 15; Green 1999: 8). At present there is “little about how daily life is affected and altered by the manifestation of a variety of signs and symptoms.... little about the conflicts and difficulties people face in their daily lives as they struggle to accept the traumas they have witnesses experienced and/or perpetrated” (Parker 1996: 268). This criticism advocates contextualised analysis (Gibson 1989: 632); a perspective that sees experience as intersubjective embodied, social and processual (Moore 1993: 3). Insights can be taken from the anthropology of emotion in which emotions are seen as much as socio-culturally located phenomenon as psychobiological processes (Lutz 1988: 5; Lutz & Abu Lughod 1994). Central to this is the recognition that rather than emotions being indicative of a universal concept of the person, one that is said to draw upon western notions of autonomy, action and response, emotions are indicative of the mutual constitution of person, body and culture (Worthman 1992: 152). 282 THE EMOTIONAL IMPACT OF THE WAR To gain understanding of the experience of emotional suffering for people in Nyadar I rely once again upon their narratives and description of these experiences. Thp following narratives give eloquent testimony to the emotional impact of the war. The first I heard from Schola Aanyu during a group discussion with women who were close friends and members of a weekly Catholic prayer group. The second I heard from Okello John, as we sat outside the small shop in Oditel where he had started up his own business. Case Studies “For me I get too much thinking when I get memories of the war. I used to get too much thinking also, those days when people were gathered in the camps. I got so many troubles being a girl. You found that soldiers gathered and came into the camp looking for girls. Now you would find that for someone like me who was unmarried at that time, people really used me badly. They could use you for eating from soldiers. They would go to the barracks looking for a way of eating and they would say to the soldiers “I can find you an unmarried girl”. Then they would move with soldiers showing them girls who were not married. Then one by one the soldiers would come and say “I want you” and what could I do. So many soldiers were asking me and I could not know which was good and which was bad. Then they took you by force because they had already given out money to someone to find them a girl and that person had eaten the money. They would say to me, “Don’t play with us, because we can kill you” and they would put their guns by the door when they came into the house. One day soldiers came to kill me. Some men from the camp had got money from the soldiers in return for telling the soldiers that I was an unmarried girl. The soldiers came to me and I tried to refuse and they starting shouting at me telling me that I was proud because I was a school girl. They starting following me and abusing me but I just kept quiet and kept on refusing. I tried to deceive them and said that I was married. This was an idea that I had been given by a friend of mine. He said to me that I should say that I was married to him. However the soldiers went and beat up this man until he admitted that I was not his wife. 283 The soldiers came back and started shouting at me “Who do you think you are? You are so proud. Do you think that we don’t have wives ourselves? Do you think that our wives are like stones? Yet we have been taken away from our wives to come and protect your village”. Then they brought their grenades and started following me. My neighbours wife started crying saying to me, “If you don’t go with them then they will kill us all. Just go with them and get their money because I don’t even have a shilling for feeding my children”. So I agreed to go with the soldiers. Then I got advice from my friends that it is better to choose one soldier and accept to stay with him so that the other ones will not disturb you. Then I got another problem when the soldiers were transferred and new ones came. I had to get another soldier to protect me. Some men brought a soldier to me; that was their work, to organise girls for the soldiers. The soldier they brought was very short and blind in one eye and I got very annoyed. I thought, “I have accepted everyone, every soldier that was brought to me I have accepted, because there is no way out. But I don’t even know which soldiers are good and which are bad”. So I decided that I would escape. I got one of my friends, an Itesot, who was a bodyguard to the soldiers and I asked him to help me escape. He was one of the people to organise girls for the soldiers and he told me that if the soldiers found that I had escaped then they would come and kill me. But he helped me and showed me a secret route to Soroti and he organised with the L.C. to get me a letter, which would allow me to pass to Soroti, and I escaped there, walking all the way at night. When I reached to Soroti I was not like a normal person in any way. I would meet soldiers on the street and I would walk slowly like a person who does not have control in the body. I would dream at night that more and more soldiers were coming into my hut. I had too much thinking, too much thinking. Until my heart was full of thoughts and I became thin, thin. I got ulcers in my heart and there was no sleep in my mind. I produced my child from there and I thought that I did not know which was her father. Slowly, slowly I got advice from my friends in Soroti. We would share eating together and after eating we would start joking. They taught me good ideas until I got some peace and began forgetting those bad thoughts. When I was quiet they would make me talk and when I didn’t want to talk they would talk themselves. I would laugh when I saw my daughter playing. However, even now I get too much thinking. I see my daughter and I think that I don’t even have money to feed her; I have too 284 many problems. I think that if it were not for the war I would not have to bring up a child in such conditions. And what of Aids? Too much thinking ” ScholaAanyu, aged 24, Nyadar, 9.12.97 “My name is Okello John Robert. I am a child of Africa, bom in Uganda and living in Nyadar. I was bom in 1979, my father was a policeman but Karamojong shot him dead in 1981, on the 31st January. He left me when I was very young and now I am an orphan. Since that time it has been my mother to bring us up. She stmggled to feed me, treat me and dress me until I grew up, facing many problems. I have run many times in my life; first from Karamojong, then we stopped running from Karamojongs and we ran from rebels, then we stopped running from rebels and we ran from soldiers. I came back to Nyadar in 1995 and joined the secondary school but even studying, it is me to pay fees by selling things in a shop. I remember many bad things in my life. The first experience was when I was six years old and Karamojong tried to kill my mother. The Kajongs came to our home and took my mother outside to the bush. They were about to ax her to death but she spoke to them in their own language and they let her go. Then they came into the house and found my brother hiding under the bed. They thought that he was the husband of my mother and they were about to shoot him when my mother explained that he was her son. Then they left and they stole everything. They stole the food, the sheets, the saucepans, and we had to eat the residue of beer because there was nothing else. My mother forced me to go to the fields to dig and I hated her for making me suffer. I didn’t know that it was the right thing. Then another time, my mother was practicing etal culture. She went to the bush to gather herbs. By that time soldiers were in the camp and when the rebels saw my mother they said that she had gone to the soldiers to betray them. Then they put her name on a register and were going to kill her. In fact they killed the man that had his name next to my mother’s on the list and when she went to mourn for that man they showed her that his name had a tick by it and that she was the next on the list. Then a man came who was a rebel and a friend of my mothers. He said that the rebels would come that very day to kill her and she managed to escape. She left us children alone in the house and the rebels came. They stayed all around the house for the whole day and they kept shouting, “You won’t even see your mother’s body. We are going to make her disappear”. Then they left in the 285 evening and we were alone for a long time until my mother reached Soroti and then she called for us one by one. So many bad things and I have really suffered. Even in Soroti things were so bad, there was a famine and we had to eat relief food. I started to sell cigarettes from there with money that my mother gave me but the money that I made was stolen when I was in the bus park. I was moving up and down looking for a way to get to school until we came back here and started building in the village. I was given some turkeys from my cousin and I bred and sold them and I bought salt to sell in Nyadar and I started my shop business. Then I decided to try to be a fish monger. So I used my capital and I went to Serere to catch fish. That was suffering. I was captured by police on my way back from Serere with the fish because I did not have a license for selling small fish. They put me in prison, this was 1997, this very year. That was my first time to enter prison and I couldn’t even eat, I was crying all day. I was there with boys from Soroti who are used to such a life but I couldn’t tolerate it. Then the police said that I would be in prison for seven years. I planned to kill myself because I couldn’t tolerate it. I had such bad memories and I day dreamed of my father. I thought that if only he was alive I wouldn’t be in such problems. I had a lot of thinking, thinking that if my father was there he would be the one to pay school fees for me and I would not have to struggle on my own. Then they fined me and let me free. So many times I get bad memories and I can even call out as if someone is about to kill me. I see the Karamojong walking naked and I fear very greatly. But I am changing the character of these memories because I see how the Kajong have come to stay with us in a good way and we are even sharing the same place. When I get those bad memories I read either a bible or an English dictionary. I go and read and the book helps me. If it is the bible I will get a new explanation or a story and that can bring me peace in my heart. Or in the dictionary I can get a new word that I have never seen before and it is so sweet, very sweet to have that word in my heart and I come to peace. I sit with my friends and we compare what happened to our places in the war and it can bring a lot of fun, we used to make plays of the war and it was good. But there are some things we never talk about. Like one time I saw rebels cut off the ear of a man and forced him to eat it. Those things are not good and if you bring them to mind you can cry the whole night ” Okello John Robert, aged 19, Nyadar, 20.4.97 286 The Emotional Experience of War Both Schola and Okello described a range and variety of events as constituting the emotional impact of the war. The psychoanalytic literature has recognized that traumatic violence can occur in many ways and with various nature (Melville & Lykes 1992: 534; Gibson 1989: 632; Dregov & Raundalen 1987: 117). There is evidence that particular characteristics of violent trauma are more likely to lead to a negative emotional impact. Levin (1982) has argued that violence has a ‘cumulative effect’. He observed that young people in Northern Ireland were more likely to manifest anxiety symptoms on experiencing subsequent rather than initial stress and the more violence a person was subjected to, the more likely a negative psychological reaction would be.4 The psychoanalytic literature also makes suggestions as to what constitutes a traumatic event. Krystal (1978) has suggested that it is the victim’s subjective state of helplessness, which differentiates an experience as traumatic rather than merely fearful. Powerlessness and a lack of agency certainly characterize many civilians’ traumatic experiences (cf Melville and Lykes 1992) as for Schola’s encounters with soldiers and Okello’s day when the home was surrounded by rebels or his time in prison. I take the perspective, however, that the emotional impact of war has to be understood as a situationally defined experience. As Dawes (1992: 15) states “emotional reactions to political violence, understandings of it, perceptions of its traumatic nature are a product of the meanings produced through previous life history, present circumstance and constructions engendered.” Wendy James has assessed ‘fear’ amongst the Uduk from this same basis. She suggests that fear has a ‘situatedness’; it is defined for a person in relation to others but also in relation to a conceptualized world and field of images. It is in the retelling, the recollection, of fear that she finds the contextual images used as a concept, and it is thus in the retelling that the cultural and emotional aspect of the experience can be elucidated (1997: 121). 287 There is no one word that can translate as ‘trauma’ in Ateso. Discourse analysis, however, reveals a corpus of words and concepts which people in Nyadar understood as together constituting an emotionally distressing experience. When people in Nyadar re-tell their experiences of war, four main characteristics are stressed. The first is fear. Like the Uduk, the Iteso employ differing descriptions of fear in narrating suffering and the emotional experience of the war. There is the instinctive active fear that results in recoil and often flight - aiwong. When people saw Karamojong raiders approaching, feared for their lives and took off to the bush to hide, they describe that they were responding to aiwong. But there is also the fear built on knowledge/respect - ikuriana. So when Okello’s mothers name was on the list made by rebels the family experienced ikuriana; a terror built on knowing of the possibilities. Fear in both senses constitutes the emotional experience of war. Second is the characteristic of ‘poverty/suffering’ - ichan. Ichan , is as I have previously stated, a deeply evocative and moving description for people in Teso. What holds poverty and suffering together, in Iteso terms, is that both are predicated upon, and are the consequences, of loss. People in Nyadar consistently defined traumatic experiences in terms of loss. So for Okello the loss of his father, in the ‘poverty/suffering’ caused, was an emotionally devastating event even though he was not old enough to consciously witness it. The loss implied in the word ichan reflects on the impact that material loss has in the emotional experience of war for people in Nyadar. When an eighteen year old boy from Nyadar drew a picture of a particularly devastating day that he had experienced in his life time, he drew a picture of Karamojong raiding cattle from his home. At the center of the picture and which defined for him the emotion of the event, was his new shirt that he had worked to buy. It was dropped as the family fled from home.5 The history of the war, in the material impoverishment brought to Teso, is a history of the emotion of ichan. In it’s materiality this emotion is not discreet but extends into the present. 288 The loss of ichan is also, however, a phenomenological loss. Moving from homes into the camp is described as ichan, the loss of home, freedom and identity. Schola describes being forced into relationships with soldiers she did not like as ichan; the loss of control, choice and the good opinion of others. During my time in Nyadar I heard one narrative of a mother being forced to leave her baby alone in the bush because it was crying and the group she had fled with feared that the crying might draw attention to them. That is ichan; the loss of normal social relationships. The death of friends and family - the loss of loved ones - is the deepest ichan . In Nyadar, when people suffer emotional reactions after war it is because of ichan , and in describing traumatic experiences as ichan , there is understanding that the impact of the conflict upon social and emotional life is concurrent. McCallin and Fozzard (1991: 7) note that this intertwining of the social and the emotional is often missing in accounts of the psychological impact of conflict; in Nyadar it is fundamental to the perception that people had of the war events. All descriptions of loss in Teso hold reference to the idiom of death.6 People in Nyadar stated that death is the most fearful and dreaded aspect of social life. Death is said to bring ‘confusion’ - aitoolikin , and to be the epitome of ‘evil’ - aronis. As described in Chapter Five loss, as understood in Nyadar, relates not just to literal death but death in terms of what it is to be an effective person in the world. Due to the centrality of wealth in notions of personal efficacy and identity in Teso, material loss is the loss of volition; a profoundly disturbing and emotional experience. Third, traumatic events are constituted by the role of words. It is noticeable that when people talk of their experiences of ichan they use generalised expressions, I was often struck by the vagueness and imprecision of the descriptions. Yet a key place is given to the role of language and words in the experience of distressing events. Both Okello and Schola draw out exactly who said what to whom and the self evident pain and fear caused. 289 The Iteso understand words as being powerful and effective in causing emotional states for they understand an indivisibility between hearing, feeling and tasting. In Ateso, as in other East African languages, there is only one word which means each and all of ‘to hear’ ‘to feel’ and ‘to taste’. In Ateso this is the word apupun. It is understood that hearing words is akin to a physical process of consumption. Words are ‘heard’ and at the same time are ‘tasted’ and ‘felt’. Words are like food, they are objects, which can enter the body and be digested there. In Teso such ‘hearing/tasting/feeling’ is said to take place in the heart. The heart is the center of the Iteso sensory person. Words, like food, are heard/felt/tasted in the heart and from there have the ability to affect the emotional state of a person. Once again the idea of consumption is central to ideas of the person; when people in Nyadar narrated their experiences they did so in the knowledge that their audience understood that distressing words are not just ‘heard’ but are internally ‘felt’ and ‘tasted’ as well. Fourth, people in Nyadar use the concept of ‘bad knowledge’ - acoa nu ’eroko , to define the horrors of their conflict experiences. This (as described in Chapter Four), is the description given to acts of violence and brutality that were witnessed and experienced, images which have lasting impact and bring troubled memories. Scenes that involved bloody violence were stressed as being ‘bad knowledge’; scenes, which involved the dismembering of bodies and loss of bodily integrity, were particularly horrific in people’s mind’s eye. The description ‘bad knowledge’ was one given in the context of the importance of the concept of ‘knowledge’ - acoa, to the social development of an individual. Through ‘knowledge’ people saw themselves as acquiring the cleverness to manage situations, confront difficulties and to be successful in life. ‘Bad knowledge’ is framed as the opposite of this, instead of cleverness it brought ‘confusion’, instead of enabling personal development it was knowledge that undermined the healthy and progressive orientation of people in the world. ‘Bad knowledge’ is also a moral category. They particularly stressed that ‘bad knowledge’ came through coercion. They had been coerced, through waves of 290 Karamojong, rebel and NRA activity enforced from behind the barrel of a gun, to receive ‘bad knowledge’, of death, violence, killing and suffering. In these situations people saw themselves as trapped without volition - the conditions of the camp were the epitome of this - and forced to become something they did not desire to be. The Emotional Result of War Experiences People in Nyadar understood that an emotionally constituted experience of war led to emotional consequences. In psychoanalytic parlance this is the relationship of ‘trauma’ leading to ‘distress’. The psychoanalytic relationship postulated between trauma and distress has been defined in terms of repression. The domination of Freudian theory leads to suggestions that when the ideologically framed subject finds no social space for the expression of trauma as experienced by the inner psyche, then the body takes over in symptoms of distress. For example, in a Freudian study of the manifestations of Shell Shock by men returning from the trenches in the First World War, Showalter (1985: 171) shows that the returning fighters were confronted with national ideologies that portrayed them as conquering heroes. She suggests that the gap between the public expectation of what the experience of warfare had been like and the actual experience men had been through resulted in many falling ill with shell shock, as the only recourse to express psychological anguish. In Nyadar a differing relationship is posited between the emotional experience and emotional consequences of war. They saw that emotional consequences were a natural and inevitable consequence of living through war events. People in Nyadar understood the emotional consequences as twofold. First, as both Okello and Schola’s testimonies show, people in Nyadar stated that the emotional consequences of having lived through the war were memories and dreams. People in the parish made no distinction between sleeping dreams and waking bouts of memory or reflection. Both are termed ‘dreams’ - arujasia, and 291 both may be pleasant ‘sweet’ - ejijim, or unpleasant ‘bitter’ - edwar. After the war many people in Nyadar have experienced unpleasant and disturbing dreams - arujasia eroko, ‘bad dreams’ which they classify as ‘bitter’. In conscious hours these are memories of horrific happenings, reliving moments of terror and repulsion. The daily experience of this psychological intrusion can be incapacitating for people in Nyadar. It surfaced continually throughout my stay. People would avoid taking certain routes for fear of passing sites of former atrocities and avoid certain activities for fear of provoking memories. Once I sat with a family eating a rare meal of meat. Noticing that my neighbour, who was a 13 year old boy, unusually wasn’t eating the meat on his plate I asked him why. He replied that it was giving him bad memories of seeing the body of his uncle after it had been cut to pieces by NRA soldiers. Another time on Christmas day my hostess came up to ask me if I would kill the chicken explaining “I can’t do it. You know once they killed a rebel right in front of my eyes. They tied up his legs, sharpened their pangas and cut his neck, then cut off his arms like a chicken.” Daily life in Nyadar was full of instances when associations in the present acted as reminders of the past, and the memory of images of the past came back in horrific and intrusive form. In sleep ‘bitter’ dreams were fictions of death, running, raiding and destruction. Many people had dreams of their own death and seeing their body being dismembered before their severed eyes. These distressing dreams are stimulated by further misfortune in the present. So Okello talked of suffering from bad memories in prison. The ongoing circumstances of ichan reawaken memories of past emotional experiences. Bitter dreams and memories of the past conflict receive their undesirable potency in Teso not only for their violent images and their ability to incapacitate normal practice but also because they are understood to link to the second emotional result of war. This is the phenomenon experienced as a locally defined disease known as aomisio. Both Schola and Okello refer to aomisio in their narratives. 292 Aomisio is locally translated as ‘having too much thinking’ and is the major post war psychological intrusion that populations in Teso have complained of (Brett, A. nd; Nyanger 1995: 76). In indigenous terms, what happens when someone is suffering from ‘too much thinking’ is that they are being plagued by thoughts. These thoughts are both memories and worries. Schola had suffered heavily from aomisio, thinking through both the memories and the possible worrying consequences of her repeated sexual abuse at the hands of soldiers in the camp. People in Nyadar suffered from aomisio after difficult events in all aspects of life; there were women in the parish who I saw suffer from aomisio after finding of the unfaithfulness of their husbands and men who suffered from aomisio in the daily struggles of poverty and getting money to educate their children. In this sense the emotional impact of the war was continuous with other devastating and difficult experiences. Yet the conflict was said to have raised the occurrence of aomisio since the condition is closely linked to the prevalence of ichan. So one young man explained his occurrences of ‘too much thinking’ as we sat one day in Oditel. His father had been shot in front of his eyes during the conflict: “I get too much thinking” he said “when I remember my father. Then I think that if only my father were alive today I would not be struggling like this, looking up and down for money. If my father were here today he would advise me about how to marry.” Etanu Anthony, 19, Oditel, 12.1.98 For Anthony, memories of his father and in particular of the way in which his father was killed are triggered by incidents in the present context. So he might remember his father when he passes the place where he was shot or when a situation confronts him, like marriage, where his father would have been involved. These memories in turn trigger the series of thought and worry that constitute aomisio. Likewise Okello dreamt of his dead father as part of a time of ‘too much thinking’ - aomisio. In this way a loss of the past has impact on the present. 293 Aomisio is both a memory of what has been lost and the worry caused by the consequences of that loss.8 Aomisio is characterised by sleepless nights where the sufferers turn memories and worries over and over in their mind and by times of depression, which hinders conversation and action. Once again people in Nyadar described these times of aomisio as ‘bitter’. This was more than a metaphor, it was a description of the physiological experience of aomisio. For with ‘too much thinking’ thoughts and in particular the words that carry and formulate them, were said to have entered the heart, to be ‘heard/felt/tasted’ there and when digested and processed in the heart were found as ‘bitter’. ‘Too much thinking’ was otherwise described as ‘having bitter words in the heart’. This has a direct impact on the body; those who suffer from ‘too much thinking’ are said to become thin and to develop ‘ulcers in the heart’.9 Thus memories of the war are embodied; they spark the bitter words of worried thought to enter the heart and cause bodily decline in a way that is socially undesirable. This is more than a metaphor of individual internal distress; this is a somatised manifestation. It has been a contribution of psychoanalytic literature to suggest that distress takes on an embodied expression. This somatisation of distress is evident in Nyadar but, rather than fitting the psychoanalytic model of the body starting where the mind stops evidencing a mind/body dualism, the somatisation of aomisio works in terms of the local and cultural understanding of the body and of the construction of the person. Memories and worries are experienced in the body. They are resonant through the potency and digestion of words. The full meaning of ‘too much thinking" is also given in the context of indigenous understandings in Teso that posit a healthy relationship between people and knowledge. The word aomisio literally means ‘ideas’. The noun derives from the verb ‘to think’ - aomom. In Teso (as described in Chapter Four) ‘ideas’ stand in key relation to the person. Ideas are received externally and cause personal or historical change. It was striking that when people in Nyadar gave narratives of 294 social change they often referred to the introduction of an idea as the stimulus for that change. This is both for personal and communal pasts. The role of ‘ideas’ and ‘advice’ has been seen in many places throughout the thesis. When Stephen Eyamu, Chapter Five, set up shop with his brother it was because his brother was “given the idea”, when Schola was comforted by her friends they “shared ideas”.10 These ideas that provoke change come from outside, from other people; you do not get an idea by yourself. Colonialism and education are understood as such forces for change because of the new ideas introduced in them. Ideas are exchanges given between people. Those in Nyadar held that beer parties with groups of people gathered around the beer pot were the archetypal stage for a communal and sociable traffic in ideas (see Plate 9). The force of ‘ideas’ is that they carry ‘knowledge’ - acoa> knowledge, which is such a key component of understandings of development and ‘life’. As ‘too much thinking’ - aomisio, stands in contrast to these formulations. It is a state where distress, thoughts, anxiety and worry about past and present situations swarm in the mind and body. In aomisio ideas no longer create active change. In fact the relationship of ideas/thoughts to social or personal change has been reversed. Instead of coming from outside to work through the person in history. History and events come from outside but become distressingly trapped inside the single person as worries with disabling and debilitating consequences. Instead of bringing building knowledge and development these aomisio constitute destructive emotion. People suffering from ‘too much thinking’ are obvious to their community and companions. Not only do they become thin and develop ulcers but they often sit in an attitude of dejected depression. They sit alone with their head bowed and chin in hand.11 They have a Tong mouth’ (a pout) - aituk aiwoja, and do not smile. They are brooding and silent. Such a position is read socially as a sign that something is seriously wrong. It is not only unpleasant and distressing to see someone sit in such a way but it also works as a spur to action. A person in such a position is recognized and greeted, “Greetings to your suffering/poverty” - “Yoga 295 ichan”. Usually their arm is pulled away from their face and they are engaged in conversation. This recognition of aomisio is an important part of the place of the emotional result of destructive events for people in Nyadar. It differs from the link posited between trauma and distress in psychoanalytic theory where distress is a physiological reaction after the memories of trauma have been repressed. In Nyadar, in contrast, an event that involves emotional suffering automatically becomes a ‘story’ - awaragasia, by the form of passage of information in which witnesses recount to others and others to others what has happened. Before long the whole community knows the story anyway. A person suffering from aomisio or arujasia eroko will always assume that her companions know, and have even shared in, the specific history that relates to their distressed state. This allows the open discussion of judgments and opportunities for comfort. The knowledge of happenings are public property and the causes of aomisio or arujasia eroko are widely validated. In Nyadar aomisio is not about expressing physically to others what is unable to be acknowledged verbally. For it is likely that what has happened is already known full well. In addition aomisio has a specific bodily pose. The body expresses a language of emotion within culturally acceptable (if not desirable) norms of repose rather than outside and in contrast to them as in the case of hysteria. Aomisio is on show, not as a bodily take over, but as a direct expression of a mental and heart felt state. In reading and recognizing the body of aomisio the communal knowledge of a person’s distressed state grows. In recognizing the expression the audience also links it to their perception of events and happenings that affect the person. Many times, when walking past a person showing signs of aomisio people would explain what the cause was. Just as western theories of psychological distress, such as PTSD, encode culturally specific notions of the person as defined through discourses of psychology and psychiatry, so too definitions of aomisio in Nyadar reflect local ideas of pathology. 296 In Nyadar distress is understood and experienced in terms of concepts of the person and history, of thought, emotion and the body that are culturally specific. People in Nyadar see the emotional consequences of war as an inevitable part of having been involved in horrific events for as the incidence of ichan has expanded so has the incidence of aomisio. They also hold that the incidence of acoa n u ’eroko and arujasia eroko has necessarily increased after a time where the influence of evil was seen to be prevalent. When people in Nyadar describe the emotional impact of war they imply that the healthy interplay of ideas and the person has been disrupted; rather than knowledge that is ‘sweet’, desirable and instructive to ‘life’ there is prevalence of ‘bitter’ aomisio in the heart. Aomisio is an inevitable result of a moral person being forced into a place in undesirable circumstances. In addition aomisio in experienced in a context where its manifestation is socially recognised. In local imagination there is a direct link between trauma and distress, one unmediated by a repressive social climate. The way that specific understandings of the person inform the experience of distress becomes important when analysing local forms of emotional recovery. Ben-Ezer (1990: 36) is a clinical psychologist who has worked amongst Ethiopian Jewish refugees in Israel. He focuses particularly on refugee children whose have become separated from their families left in Ethiopia. He noted that these children suffered acute distress for many years and often stopped eating, in a manner akin to anorexia. He suggests that their response relates to Ethiopian cultural idioms of the person in which feeling is located not in the heart but in the stomach. The inability of the children to eat is not a refusal to eat related to ideas of weight, as in anorexia, but because they physically cannot take in food when their abdomen is full up with the misfortunes of life. Ben-Ezer argues that the recognition of this connection is at the bottom of successful strategies of healing. Apposite strategies of emotional recovery are based upon the cultural idioms and connections that constitute the emotional experience of distressing events. Gibbs (1994: 272) has described how the Milange of Mozambique have understood the experience of distress after conflict with reference to a bodily idiom. They talk of 297 how their hearts had been changed and displaced in the war and the resulting pain and disquiet this caused them. The strategies for coping with distress employed by the Milange involved rituals to realign displaced hearts. Likewise Summerfield, Giller and Braken (1995: 1080) conducted research in the north of Uganda. They suggest that a use of ritual in healing was related to the fact that the causation of distress was not perceived as within the person at all but as being in a malfunctioning of the person-society relationship, which could be adjusted through ritual. They suggest that this relates to a ‘sociocentric’ constitution of personhood. In the same way psychotherapy counseling models are based on the premise which underlies psychoanalytic notions of distress, that of repression. Healing is predicated upon drawing out in words, to talk about and to have heard experiences and memories that might be locked away to pathological consequences. The event is personally re-lived and therefore diminished, controlled and rendered impotent. In Nyadar, however, strategies for coping with the ongoing emotional consequences of the conflict have to be seen in terms of ideas of personhood, the body and distress and as re-aligning the rightful orientation of a person in the world. EMOTIONAL RECOVERY People in Nyadar recognised that, whilst ulcers might be treated by local healers or western medicine, the way to cure a person with ‘too much thinking’ was to get to the heart of the problem. This was to be achieved by an indigenous talk therapy. Here sufferers are not encouraged to talk through their thoughts and memories as a way of coming to terms with them. Indeed people in Nyadar actively avoid talking about their memories of the conflict. Instead people are encouraged to listen to the words of others in the hope that these alternative words will enter their heart be ‘heard/felt/tasted’ there and will displace the harmful ones. In particular people in Nyadar believed that a sufferer should be told comforting ‘sweet’ words to mitigate against the effect of ‘bitter’ ones. They stress the role of ‘advice’ and ‘ideas’ in comfort. 298 Such an understanding of recovery is predicated upon communally held understandings, knowledge, experience and notions of the emotional impact of events. Those suffering from emotional distress, however, do not rely on the entirety of the community for their healing; this would be ineffective in a situation where the community is cut through with war related rifts and grudges, where the very person who perpetrated the initial suffering might be present every day. Instead, as both Schola and Okello show, there is reliance on trusted friends for comfort and support. Whilst such comfort might not be communal, it is social. Friends see that it is of immediate importance that those suffering from aomisio should be comforted. Their hands are pulled away from their head and they are rarely left alone. Such comforting was evident during an incidence that occurred during my fieldwork in Nyadar. A teenage boy was beaten senseless by his step-father/uncle using a glass beer bottle. NRA soldiers had killed the boy’s father in the war and his father’s brother had taken on his mother in marriage. The stepfather and son had a particularly stormy relationship. One day the stepfather came back drunk and found that they boy had not taken the goats out to pasture. He turned on the boy until the neighbours separated them. After this incident the boy developed deep aomisio for several months. His nights and days were filled with arujasia eroko of his father’s murder in the war, which he had been witness to. The comfort that offered to him by friends and neighbours contains common ‘sweet’ ingredients with those experienced by Schola and Okello. First friends laid emphasis on their shared suffering, which they described as the inevitable part of human life: “it’s like that” - “erai kapakwaien”. They stated that they ‘know’ (the verb ‘to know’ - ajeni, implies knowledge from witnessing) what suffering is and they ‘know’ what has caused distress in each particular case. So as members of the village came to comfort the boy beaten by his step-father, as they sat with him and brought food, they reminded him that they too had lived through the war and regretted that fact of his real father’s death. ‘Sweetening’ comfort is based upon a shared knowledge/witness of events and the 299 understanding that violence has had a common impact and that distress is an inevitable part of the hardship of human life. Those who comfort will have experienced them together. It was noticeable that members of his ekek gave the boy close attention. Many in Nyadar commented that it was their ekek who ‘knew’ their suffering most of all and upon whom they relied upon for comfort and healing. Second, in this case, and in many others, present suffering was linked back to the war. Emotional suffering was defined as caused by the marked era of wrongful history. Thus his companions explained that the boy would not have been beaten if his father had not been killed in the war. Schola rationalised that she would not be worrying about Aids if soldiers had not come to the camp. Okello reasoned that he would not have been put in prison if Karamojong had not killed his father. Such causality was attributed even in cases less directly linked to the conflict; when a woman in Nyadar developed aomisio after finding out that her husband was unfaithful, her friends talked of the way in which men had become used to moving ‘up and down’ in the conflict, involving themselves in casual relationships. Blaming aomisio and arujasia eroko on the war is to link them as undesirable states of human life. It takes causality out of the present and locates it to a time when so much was abnormal and chaotic, making it seem all the more natural and all the less desirable that people should have a reaction of distress. Comfort clarifies the lines of causality and ‘sweetens’ by recognizing the inevitable pull of the past upon the present. Third, sweetening comforting comes through the use of words to encourage the sufferer. So for Schola, women constantly told her that they thought she did not have Aids and that they understood that she had been forced into her relationships with soldiers. Okello’s friends comforted him with their understanding that he was prey to corrupt police officials. Such reasoning defines the sufferer as victim. It exaggerates the inevitability of distress as relating to a person without properly defined efficacy who has experienced a reversal of healthy interplay between self and other, between self and history. Such discourses in fact insure that aomisio 300 and arujasia eroko are defined as valid experiences of what it is to be a person when displaced from a ‘sweet’ and healthy trajectory of history and relationships. Fourth, no words were considered ‘sweeter’ in Nyadar than those told in jest, which employed humour. Listening to jokes and responding with laughter was seen as a sure way of dealing with and healing ‘too much thinking’. Comfort often included joking - aiyalana. When Okello’s friends used to sit with him, he told them about the characters of the other prisoners and the group gave them nicknames that they used in all continuing conversations. Schola parodied the soldiers and the boy beaten by his step-father imitated over and again the comedy of his drunken walk. In all three cases, the content of distressing experiences became comic and were laughed about. In Nyadar the place of laughter is very closely linked to happiness. The word ‘to joke’ - aiyala, has a common root with the word ‘to be happy’ - eyalama. People laugh at a joke not because they have merely understood and mentally processed it, but because it has been ‘heard/felt/tasted’ in the heart, found as ‘sweet’ and has been enjoyed and brought happiness. When people laughed at incidents in the war they were countering the ‘bitter’ thoughts of aomisio with ‘sweet’ ideas wrought of the same material. They were reversing a state of distress with one of happiness. In Nyadar, happiness and jokes, like ideas, are perceived as gifts received from other people. The word ‘to be happy’ - eyalama, also means ‘to be grateful’ or ‘thank you’. Happiness is predicated upon receiving; upon exchanges. Jokes and happiness are gifts received from others in social relationships. To receive a joke and the ‘sweet’ happiness that it brings is to reverse the state of aomisio, thought in isolation, with feelings caused by others. In order to truly ‘get’ a joke one has to be steeped in a shared knowledge and understanding. What is comic is culturally defined and socially shared. The fact that people in Nyadar can turn their traumatic experiences into jokes is because the experience has been a social one. A joke depends on being beyond one person and in making war experiences into jokes, 301 comforters remind the sufferer that they do not experience aomisio alone but that it is encountered together. Humour is a critical part of healing individual distress in Nyadar. It acts to confine the impact of violent and intrusive memories of the past war. Iteso recognise that the humour employed in social exchange can work on a very personal therapeutic level. It can deal with and even reverse the consequences of individual memories of the conflict. Humour provides ‘sweetness’ which has the potential to counter the effects o f‘bitterness’. Finally, it is not only words that ‘sweeten’ distress in Nyadar. From a young age children in Teso get used to controlling their emotions with food and drink; when babies cry they are suckled, when toddlers moan they are given sugar to eat. Eaten, tasted/felt/heard in the heart, food and drink has the ability to change a state of mind and body and so comforters will do all that they can to entice a person away from aomisio and arujasia eroko with food and drink. People in Nyadar say that when food and drink enter the heart, it can ease distress and hurt. Food, like words, is a substance of social life. The communion of eating, jokes rise brings happiness. Particularly in drinking millet beer there is an intoxication of alcohol and companionship. Beer is said to give morale and strength, to calm the bitter pain of memories and bring in the ‘sweetness’ of joking company. Indeed many of the markers of post-war recovery, the material prosperity so longed for, directly relate to ideas of recovery from the emotional impact of the war. The ability to consume is an act of identity but it is also an emotional act. When young people draw pictures of ‘Days When I Felt Better After the War’, they draw themselves and their friends putting on new clothes, listening to radios and drinking beer; there is no division between the material and the emotional. Consumption is ‘sweet’ and as such it brings healing and counters the ‘bitterness’ of ichan, aomisio and arujasia eroko. 302 When people in Nyadar comforted those suffering from emotional distress they used methods that regenerated the sufferer in terms of local understandings of what it is to be an integrated, moral, social and emotional person. Regeneration also takes place with methods connected to the cultural understanding of the bodily and sensory constitution of a person Such regeneration involves reversal; the reversal from a situation of lonely thoughts and memories to the sociality of jokes, sharing and food, the reversal of a bitter state to a sweet one. The importance of words is to be stresses in this process. Just as words constitute the negative emotional impact of the war, words can also be the missives of comfort. For words, as jokes, as advice, as ‘sweet’, are gifts from person to person. They are missives of rightful sociality, they are ‘ideas’ which bring knowledge and thus development. Thus as people comfort each other with words they are replacing ‘too much thinking’ - aomisio, with the good and healthy use of words in ideas and advice. Comfort is the regeneration of the desirable impact of ideas, the desirable relationship between people and others. It is to regenerate the person as the person is locally understood and has been locally displaced. Ideally this is a social comfort for a social experience of war. Yet even on his own, Okello could use the ‘ideas’ and sweetness of words in the Bible and dictionary. WIDER MECHANISMS FOR EMOTIONAL COMFORT In Nyadar comfort was directly given to those in emotional distress with therapies constituted by local ideas of personhood. There were also broader comforting structures being worked into daily life. Throughout my fieldwork I heard people make references to events in the war or tell stories about the violence that sparked laughter.12 This was done in many contexts, in informal gatherings of friends, beer parties, groups at ceremonies, sitting on the daily pick-up truck to Soroti especially when it passed places of incident in the war and more formally in church sermons and church youth groups. When I asked ‘why’ people laughed at certain stories or recollections I was told “because they are very sweet.” 303 These ‘sweet’ memories of war are a reworking of events, images, words and moments of the violence. As people in Nyadar entered a time of recovery and peace after war there is a process occurring in which communal definitions and reflections of war are being created. In using humour, people in Teso are quite simply creating a form of memory of the war that can be a ‘sweet’ rather than ‘bitter’ experience, they are creating memories that lead to laughter rather than to decline and sickness. This strategy is preventative so that knowledge of the past violence in the present need not be incapacitating, the knowledge of ichan need not lead to ‘bitter’ thoughts and memories. The importance given to ‘sweet’ words by the Iteso on an individual healing level suggests that the use of humour in memories of war is also therapeutic. A way of ‘sweetening the bitterness’. Such ‘sweetening’ occurred in three ways. Naming Humourous nicknames were ubiquitous in conversation in Nyadar. They were created as jokes and were the source of much humour and laughter. Nicknames were given to people, places, objects, situations and events. The more ‘bitter’ the situation or event the more likely it was be to have a humorous nickname. These jokey nicknames worked in many ways. They might direct fun at a person or situation. So for example there was a basic kind of shoe worn by people in Nyadar that was made out of used car tires. They were the cheapest and lowest kind of footwear to which many people had had to resort after the war. They had been given the nickname in English ‘what-to-do?’ Saying “I am going to wear my ‘what to dos’ today” was a statement that brought much mirth, an ironic and acceptable poking fun at a post-war state of poverty. One of the most bitter situations for people in Nyadar was seeing the Karamojong bring their herds through to graze on their land in the dry season. In a case of quite literally sweetening the bitterness, the meat from these cows was nicknamed ‘nacomeback’. These were Teso cows which have literally ‘come back’ to be 304 eaten by the Teso. ‘Come back’ was also the name given to men in the community who have been soldiers in the past and who have now retired. Like Teso cattle they have been involved in skirmishes away and had come back home. The fact that food is so evocative, as shown by the way in which it can spark unpleasant memories, suggests why is it so often nicknamed. There were numerous nicknames, jokes and puns surrounding food in Nyadar. One variety of ground nut was called ‘Rebel’. Not only does this variety spring up and grow rapidly often overtaking other varieties but there is a story told in which a woman was ambushed by UPA rebels and in a trade off for her life she offered her attackers seeds for the new variety of ground nut she had discovered and was carrying with her. They accepted and took the variety home to be grown. Nicknames draw humorous parallels. As in other African societies (De Waal 1989: 74), people in Nyadar had given famines names. The famine of 1997 was nicknamed ‘the sickness of saucepans’; saucepans were sick because there was nothing in them. The famine of 1994 was called ‘Agip’. This is the name of a petrol station in Teso’s main town that was bombed during the war and still stands as a ruin. The fact that a petrol station, once a place of fuel and wealth now stood devastated was ironically paralleled to the state of Teso food production. Both had been struck by war. Reference to ‘the famine of 1994’ might evoke unpleasant connotations, referring to ‘Agip’ does not; it made people laugh. People and places have been nicknamed according to their war histories. Perhaps the clearest example of this was a young man in Nyadar nicknamed ‘Chloroquin’. His father had been killed during the war and he himself had fallen into a subsequent deep depression and had attempted to commit suicide by swallowing 14 Chloroquin tablets. The attempt had failed and he became known as ‘Chloroquin’ to his face not just behind his back. Calling him ‘Chloroquin’ met with his and his friends’ laughter, retelling the story of his suicide attempt did not. An episode of personal history had been condensed into a funny name. 305 For people in Nyadar, events and situations of a period of suffering, the words that constitute and describe them and their associations can be ‘bitter’. Nicknaming is a process of re-calling events, incidents and objects in terms that are ‘sweet’. Plays Every fortnight members of the youth group of the Anglican parish church of Nyadar met to play musical instruments and to choreograph and practice historical dramaticisations of the conflict. Once a month they were called by the headmaster of Nyadar primary school to perform such plays - ebolia, to the children. These plays were again performed when there were visitors to the area. The plays depicted Karamojong raids, UP A and NRA skirmishes, abductions, killings and looting. The actors made guns out of grass and scrapped the top off match sticks to fashion home made explosives that re-created the noise of gun fire. Many of the actors were former agwayo, young UPA rebels, all had been involved to some extent in the events they portrayed. On one level these plays were an oral and enacted history; players who had been involved in the war were passing on their knowledge and experience to the new generation and to outsiders. Yet the plays had another side to them; they were always comic and were met with waves of laughter by the audience and participants. The plays created their comedy through exaggeration and mimicry. Karamojong raiders were always drunk and only ever said one thing “Where are the cows?”, soldiers marched in perfect and uncharacteristic unison, old men were beaten up not once but tens of times, old women ran screaming into the bush and urinated with fear. All of which was greeted with howls of laughter. In laughter people recognised that without the context of war such behaviour was abnormal and comic. It was also the laughter of common experience; people remarked that the plays were exactly like what had happened in the conflict but were crucially not 306 the conflict. Yet within the dialogue of the plays particular and exact attention was given to using the language of war. During the war in Teso certain phrases and words had taken on new meanings and become synonymous with terror. So for example the fact that NRA soldiers spoke Swahili has given this language a lowered value in Teso today. Other examples are in a phrase such as “Tie your dog”. When people in Teso were told to “Tie your dog” during the war it was when they were being accused by rebel soldiers of leaking information to the other side. Or “heaping potatoes” was used as an euphemism for being forced to dig one’s own grave before being killed or “harvesting rice” implied being shot. So the seemingly innocent sentence “You better tie your dog else I’ll take you to heap potatoes” became, in the war context, words of immense fear. Similarly Iteso who were taken for questioning by NRA soldiers were not meant to reply “I do not know”. In Ateso the words “I do not know” are “Mam eong AjenF which had a very similar sound to the name of President Museveni’s wife “Mama Jeni”. For an Itesot to say “Mam eong ajenF to an NRA soldier would lay them open to charges of abusing the name of the first lady, a crime punishable, in the symbolic and bizarre law of conflict, by death. Such phrases are repeated time and time again by the actors in their comic plays and each one is greeted as a joke with laughter. Just as the context of war changed the implications and meaning of words and phrases with mortal power, so the context of the comic plays changes their meaning again. What has once been bitter is re-claimed as ‘sweet’. “Tie your dog or I will take you to heap potatoes” once innocent, later fearful, now becomes funny. This process of re-definition of the place of words and phrases is important in a post conflict situation where previous sides no longer count but the memory of who did what in the name of those sides still rankles. 307 Narratives, awaragasia Lawrence suggests that telling fables or stories, awaragasia, is a Teso practice from antiquity (1957: 179). As in other East African societies such narratives are suffused with moral imaginations and act as a forum for resolving, articulating and assessing the ambiguities of social life (c.f Beidelman 1993 on narrative amongst the Kaguru of Tanzania). In Teso the particular moral principle stressed in such narratives is that of ‘knowledge’, ‘out-witting’ and ‘cleverness’ - acoa. There are many tales in Teso that exemplify the value of this sort of knowledge and usually in the favour of those with recognised social hierarchy. Thus there are a whole collection of tales about errant women with two lovers who are finally out-witted by one of the wronged men (Akello 1995: 4). These stories stress the importance of aoca knowledge both to agency and development, they are the source of much amusement. Akello (1981) has studied the thought patterns in Iteso awaragasia. There is a wide range of tales with animal characters. She notes (1981: 129) that the Hare figure, Opooi , is often the hero of awaragasia. The Hare is valued for characteristics of acoa, of cunning and trickery, of wit and intelligence. She states that the trickery of Hare is not despised by Iteso audiences but condoned even though it might involve cruelty. In the tales the Hare often out-wits the Leopard, Erisa, who is portrayed as stealthy and cruel, over confident, vengeful and unpredictable and the Lion, Engatuny , who is seen as cruel, merciless, ferocious, a senseless killer and without intelligence. People in Nyadar had begun to re-tell sequences of the war, particularly encounters with Karamojong, in terms of this genre of narrative. During my time in Nyadar I heard many tales told about how Iteso have tricked Karamojong raiders and have survived. During a memorable night of story-telling in William and Lucy’s home in Oditel, one of their relations, a young man known for his humour and story-telling ability told a tale about a man who hid in the rafters when Karamojong raiders entered his home. He jumped down behind them, 308 locked the door and ran away. When a further group of Karamojong reached the home they shot through the door thus killing all the Karamojong inside.13 When people in Nyadar narrated these tales they often stated that the Karamojong had tails. The word used for ‘tail’ was ekori, indicating the tail of a wild animal, rather than the word used for the stunted tail of sheep, goats and hares, aikunet. An explicit parallel was being made between Karamojong and the fierce Leopard and Lion of awaragasia, who was so often out-witted by the Hare. These stories are ‘sweet’ to hear. These are stories of survival, of Iteso cunning out-witting Karamojong stupidity. Such tales re-tell the conflict to stress that, despite the circumstances that led to ‘bad knowledge’, people were able to act with acoa in the conflict, the acoa that leads to survival and development as people. In a sense these are tales of resistance, they affirm Iteso principles of cleverness and ability through which the Iteso come out on top. They are tales that reverse the actual history of weakness and powerlessness that the Iteso felt at the hands of the Karamojong. Their comic element both depends upon this reversal and affirms it. They are stories in which the listeners, victims themselves, remember in stylized ways that make them feel good and not humiliated. A second type of narrative told of the conflict is comic because of its play on reversal. For example the following is part of a story told by a man who was one of a group of rebels captured by NRA soldiers in the early years of the rebellion. The group was taken to the capital Kampala as prisoners and was kept initially in one of the city’s abattoirs. From there the group was taken to the Kabira forest. This forest is synonymous with death in Uganda. Thousands and thousands of victims of political violence during the various regimes are thought to be buried there. Later the group was taken to prison. The man narrated his story during a group discussion I held in one of the villages in Nyadar and his audience roared with laughter; “Well in the abattoir you couldn’t tell which were cows and which were people. They sprayed us as they sprayed the cattle. All the people were naked so we had buttocks of cattle and 309 buttocks of people and we urinated on the floor like cattle!....In the forest we were driven to work as cattle, we didn’t have plates to eat from, we made our own plates from wood. Here in Teso we have plastic plates but there in Kabira we had plates made of wood. It didn’t matter any way because the food fell on the floor and we just picked it up and ate it like that!....Life was so strange in that forest we just sucked the leaves of plants to get water!....and the soldiers behaved very strangely too. One was your boss and he would beat you. Then his boss would come and beat him also; imagine a man who was a leader being beaten himself!” Obeca Simon, 38, Nyadar, 9.2.98 Beidelman (1993: 160) has suggested that tales often portray a fantastic world of imaginative reversal. The contrast with yet similarity to real life provides a forum for moralising issue of conflict and order. Yet for the Teso their real life became the stuff of fantastic nightmarish imagination. Humans became animal like, material comfort was absent, leaders and authority were victimized and challenged. The morality of the world was up-side-down, old certainties did not stand. Once again such a story is humorous because of the reversal it contains. Whereas tales of encounters with the Karamojong serve to reverse the relations of what was to what should have been, here a tale focuses on what actually was and makes it have a fictional character. The experience is shown as completely at odds with the normality of life, from the order and distinctions of social relations. In this way war is separated from the present, rendered unusual, something comic and bizarre. Both these types of tale are humourous, they are met with laughter. They are comic because they involve reversals of events and meanings. That reversal is instrumental because it makes events fit with principles of present social life; be that the principle of knowledge or the principle of normality. Such humorous stories involve a re-connection. They connect the present with the past in such a way that knowledge of the past is brought into the present through a certain 310 perspective, one which affirms distinct cultural values of personhood and morality. Humourous Memories For people in Nyadar the emotional impact of the war is directly related to the role of memory and how to handle the knowledge of the past in the present. For many in Nyadar memories of the conflict form knowledge that is problematic, memories can be both intrusive and distressing. In Nyadar memories are being collectively reworked with humour. This particular relationship between humour and memory has components that it is important to draw out more fully. First, it sheds light on the mechanisms of humour. What the examples above show is that things are made funny by a change of emphasis. Yet in the change of emphasis they also imply what they have been changed from. In other words humour is referential kind of knowledge. This is the point the Freud (1916) made when he examined the techniques of jokes. The comic, he saw, relies upon and only is by reference to something else. Jokes condense and imply both the comic level and the ‘normal’ level of this reference. Sometimes the reference is physical, as in the use of ‘Agip’ as a famine name, sometimes the reference is historical as in the plays, and sometimes the reference is ideological as in the narrative tales. Humour is an understanding and knowledge of the implied reference; the ability to see the implication of that reference and so ‘get’ or feel the joke. This is precisely the mechanism by which humour links to memory in this instance. When people in Teso use humour to recollect the past, they imply and refer to that past. The humour draws upon a collectively shared knowledge of the past in order to be funny at all. By applying humour in the present to events of the past, that past is both retained and brought into the present. It is perpetuated as a memory. Second, although knowledge of the past is retained, with the use of humour it is also transformed. The transformation is a moral and cognitive re-working. People 311 in Nyadar seem to be re-writing the conflict with a vocabulary of ‘sweet’ words and in so doing they set up humourous references in which the other part of the reference is defined as ‘bitter’. The ‘bitter/sweet’ distinction is a classification of how particular words are heard/felt/tasted in the heart. It is also, as in other East African societies, a moral category. For example and as discussed in the previous chapter, Shipton (1989) has shown amongst the Luo that financial behaviour classed as ‘bitter’ is morally suspect and potentially polluting. It is evident that the Teso see ‘bitter words in the heart’ as a form of pollution. Bitter words, like other forms of pollution, Aids or witchcraft, causes the victim to become thin and develop ulcers. Bitter words in the heart also prevent one from being a socially integrated and conversational person, from being ‘up to date’. ‘Bitter’ words stem out from the centre of the sensory person, the heart, and affect social relations resulting in brooding and isolated depression. The cure is the replacement of what is ‘bitter’ with what is ‘sweet’. Here what is ‘sweet’ is a positive moral evaluation of sociality itself, conversation and laughter from others. It classifies humour as an essential part of healthy social life. Such a classification is strengthened by the fact that it has been shown in the East African ethnography that joking behaviour and special joking partners are employed in ritual cleansing of pollution. Joking partners represent ambiguity and can act to transform what is polluting to what is unharmful (Beidelman 1993: 124). In addition the actual phrase for ‘humour’ in Ateso is literally ‘behaviour which puts water into the body’ - ‘eipone aipikakin akipi toman akwan\ Other behaviour which ‘puts water into the body’ is sex and eating and drinking. As in other East African ethnography there is a close metaphorical link between sex and eating (e.g. Weiss 1996). In Teso that linkage includes joking. All are ‘sweet’, all are both physically and morally desirable behaviour contributing to the reproduction of society and of ‘life’, all have importance in maintaining the integrity and health of the person but all contain implications of pollution and ‘bitter’ aspects also. In Nyadar the transformation of knowledge through humour is a moral project. 312 Third, humourous memories in Nyadar address both a collective and individual level of memory. One of the major contributions of approaches to memory such in the work of Connerton (1989) has been to show the social foundations of both individual and collective memory and the social techniques used to mold memory. Such work indicates how past experience can be culturally incorporated into the present, how that present defines what is of value in the past and how the past is used to make the present meaningful. Memory has been shown to be the site of moral practice, a site for the construction of identity both collective and of the self (Lambek 1996). The social creation of memory is common after situations of upheaval and conflict. Malkki (1995) has analysed the collective production of memories amongst Hutu refugees from Burundi in Tanzania. She shows (1995: 105) how the Hutu community interpreted the circumstances of flight and upheaval that had brought them into the refugee camps, in ways that resonated with traditions of ‘mythico-history’ in use preceding their flight. She suggests that these memories substantiated ideas if identity and nation-hood in the camps (c.f. Anderson 1991; Hobsbawm 1983: 272; Schutte 1988) Yet, as Showaiter study suggests, in some cases collective representations of what memories should be might differ from personal memories. Zur’s (1995) work amongst survivors of war in Guatemala gives another example of such a case. She describes how private memories of victims of the war are kept and cultivated as a form of resistance to the dominant state description of what the war events were and meant. War widows maintained and discussed their private memories in ways that allowed them to reconstruct a personal dignity despite their circumstances. Yet what these widows recalled in these private memories was not the sum of what they individually remembered. In fact what they could remember was related to present contexts (so that, for example, new violence in the present triggered the recollection of things in the past which had not been known to have been remembered at all). People’s private memories were both individually and 313 socially controlled and stood in passive confrontation to publicly controlled memories. Such outlooks on the memory suggest that there needs to be awareness that collective representations and personal understandings are different levels of memory and may not necessarily co-occur. There needs to be attention to the relationship between the two (Lambek 1996: xv). As Maurice Bloch has put it, “memory is a privileged area for the examination of the link between the individual and the social” (1998: 68) and for seeing “how public historically created cultural representations join private representations.” (1998: 82). Work such as Zur’s suggests that there will exist a relationship between individual and collective memories of war but the relationship between them is one which is an act of creation that relates to the social, cultural and historical context. Humourous memories of war in Nyadar address both the collective and the individual level. The jokes, plays and tales used by people in Nyadar affirm collective notions of ‘life’. They also work through physical mechanisms of ‘sweetness’. Humour and laughing are culturally recognised as a healing strategy to deal with the harmful consequences of individual memories of war. Thus the very same mechanism for dealing with individual memories of war, humour prompting laughter, has also been used in public and joint recollections of the war. As people in Nyadar, and in Teso as a whole, re-write the war with a vocabulary of ‘sweet’ rather than ‘bitter’ words they are creating a framework for remembering which not only affirms cultural knowledge, understanding and history but which also gives a way of avoiding the devastating emotional consequences of personal memories. Humour is particularly apposite because it works at both the collective and personal level; to understanding humour a person relies upon a common understanding, which is thereby affirmed but humour is also felt on a very individual and in Teso, bodily, level. Notions of what it is to be a healthy inform both of these levels work and integrated person, it is this that makes them therapeutic. 314 The final component of the relationship between humour and the memory of conflict in Teso is that it is the combination of two types of knowledge in a way that has cultural precedent. Just as it has been shown to be a project within indigenous definitions of morality so too it is an act of creation that descends from previous cultural praxis. For example the act of naming in Teso, as in other East African societies, has long been a mechanism by which claims of those in the present are made on people’s and incidents of the past. So for instance, to name a child the name of an ancestor is to justify claims of descent; a present status is made meaningful by reference to the past. Lawrence, who conducted an initial ethnography amongst the Iteso in the fifties, showed that when a woman had many children who had died, she must give her first surviving child a ridiculous and humourous name. This was to mitigate against the claim of an evil spirit and to see the child alive into the future (1957: 90). In nicknaming, people in Teso are following a local and historical understanding of the hold that naming can give over events, relationships and circumstances. Likewise with the humourous performances and tales. Karp who conducted fieldwork amongst the Iteso of Kenya in the 1970’s has described the copious laughter by women at marriage ceremonies as ‘subversion in performance’. Through laughter Karp suggests that the women are sanctioning the paradoxes and tensions of the performance. He states, “Laughter....happens and happens in the midst of the most serious transformation of status women undergo in Iteso society, a transformation that is as abrupt as it is severe.” (1985: 149). Like the plays of the war, laughter and humour arise in social performance with serious content and are part of the expression and meaning of those representations. As for the tales, these too resonate with culturally previous modes of narration. They carry on the genre of folk tale described by Akello in which fortune comes to the cleverest. The way people have brought together humour and memory as an emotional strategy in recollections of the war has historical consistency. In the post-war situation previous practices are being used in novel ways to address contemporary concerns. The Materiality of Peace 315 In his work with refugee children in Israel Ben-Ezer (1990: 38) stresses the importance of therapeutic techniques built upon cultural understandings. Yet he comments that the pain and distress of the children will only end when they are re united with their families. In Nyadar it is the condition of peace that has done as much as therapeutic strategies to heal the emotional consequences of the war. The day to day materiality of post-war recovery was constantly a source of comfort and indication of improvement that people remarked upon as being ‘sweet’. As mentioned earlier, people in Nyadar commented upon the comfort that could be bought by wearing new clothes, eating better food, listening to radios or riding bicycles, being safe to sit outside at night to drink beer. At the time of my fieldwork every act of consumption, even the mundane practicalities of subsistence still held implication in people’s imagination of a time during the conflict when such were not possible. For example people sitting telling tales at night would constantly remark that, during the conflict they had been afraid to do so. There were instances when the therapy of such material comfort became widely obvious. In February 1997 there was a marriage ceremony in Nyadar. One of the members of the Nyadar youth group, a former agwayo, was marrying a girl from a neighbouring village. He had paid bridewealth out of his own financial efforts. There was to be an ‘introduction’ ceremony at the girls home before the couple started living together. It was considered the clearest example of how a marriage ought to be for many years. The marriage feast included all the local community and, although people were instructed that when they were given a plate of meat they were only to eat the gravy so that the limited quantity of meat could be passed around the entire gathering for show, there was all night dancing and drinking. Nine years previously, in exactly the same home there had been another marriage feast for the bride’s sister. A rebel group accused the bride’s parents of being NRA sympathizers. On the night of the marriage they attacked the party. Four men and one woman, the bride, were shot dead and the mother of the bride was beaten unconscious. She was pregnant and had a miscarriage. The next morning 316 the NRA came and accused the marriage party of harbouring rebels. The mother of the bride was beaten again and her husband was taken to prison for four years. Amidst the laughter and intoxication of the second marriage feast, nine years later, were explicit memories of the previous marriage feast. Three eras were referred to: the war when death and loss had prevailed, the post-war period when impoverishment had crippled any one’s attempts to make things new and the present, when finally people were ‘picking up and moving on’, when there was money for food and drink and cultural ideals and wealth for ‘life’ were reasserting themselves. Ten months later when the couple had a child, they called her ‘Peace’. CONCLUSION In this chapter I have shown how the process of post-war recovery in Nyadar has an emotional aspect. Restoring the ability to be an effective person in the world, a person with ‘life’ as that ability is framed by a ‘way of life’, has an emotional component. Cultural resources are used in this process in order to regenerate emotionally effective people. There are a number of conclusions to make. First, the contribution of psychological approaches to understanding the impact of conflict gives recognition to the fact that post conflict recovery is an emotional and personal process as much as a material collective one. Yet, as has been shown throughout this chapter, the experience of trauma, distress and recovery has to be understood in terms of local moral ideas of what it is to be a person. Whilst many people in Nyadar have manifested symptoms that might be classed as PTSD, what these symptoms mean and how they are dealt with is contextually specific. Over and again it has been seen that emotional recovery takes place by healing the sufferer in terms of specific ideas of sociality, health and morality. This understanding fits with a world view where people relate to each other in healthy sociality, in the provision of knowledge for development as constituted by words and ideas, as sanctioned by feelings in the heart. 317 Second, in the case of healing personal emotion the process of post-war recovery in Nyadar is dependent upon the recovery of what is defined as the socio-cultural norm of what it is to be a person. In other words, in Nyadar, emotional healing is predicated upon the conservation and reproduction of healthy cultural praxis, ‘life’ itself, despite the impact of the war. It is in the ways in which people in Nyadar struggle to defend an emotional ‘life’, a life worth living, that we most clearly see the mutual constitution of culture, body and emotion. The recognition of this mutual constitution has been subsumed in accounts that assume the universal applicability of PTSD models for trauma and distress. It is clearer in anthropological accounts of grief where in cultural praxis people deal with the pain of loss by regenerating the tenements of a particular way of life. What is also important, however, from anthropological accounts of grief is the historicity of emotional healing. Green (1999: 114) shows, for example that for Mayan war widows in Guatemala, the physical pain that effects their daily life is the embodiment of their historical suffering and trauma during the war. In this, as in many other cases of dealing with grief, emotional healing is linked to memory, to re-remembering and re-forging the links between present and past (Taylor 1994; Damousi 1999: 3). As we have seen in Nyadar in order to restore ‘life’ once more, in order to become an emotionally effective person, people have used memory both to re-write the past and to heal. In other words the conservation of a way of emotional life, the foundations for personal effectiveness is based upon the historicity of memory. Cultural conservatism in this case, takes place at the same as a way of dealing with the changing times by altering the destructive links between past and present through re-writing memories. This change is effective on a bodily and emotional level. Third, in Nyadar the experience of distress is considered as continuous with the experiences of daily life. In the concept of ichan, is indication that the emotional impact of the war is not discreet; there will be ‘too much thinking’ and ‘bad dreams’ as long as suffering/poverty continues. Likewise ‘too much thinking’ is recognised and accepted as an integral, though not desirable, part of human experience. It is the integrity of ichan and its emotional consequences to the 318 experience of ‘life’ that allows the emotional impact of the conflict to be accommodated in ways that conserve and reproduce socio-cultural practice. Fourth, whilst therapeutic strategies are often directed towards the specific victim of distress, with the comfort and words of friends, there were in Nyadar more diffuse therapeutic methods. In the creation of humourous memories and the enjoyment of the materiality of peace, therapeutic structures were woven into the conversations, actions and fabric of daily life. Fourth and related to this is the fact that just as, both empirically and phenomenological, the impact of war upon social life and emotional health co-occur (McCallin & Fozzard 1991: 7), so as Cohn and Goodwill have noted (1994: 109), one of the most important aspects for emotional healing in communities after political violence is in the mending of social relations and processes. For people in Nyadar, being able to attend a wedding feast once more is, in their terms, an emotional and healing process. Coping with distress in Nyadar is about gradually replacing the events, memories, misfortunes and ichan of war with the regeneration of comfort; the social, spiritual and material wealth of peace. Lastly, it must be noticed that in Nyadar there were a few individuals suffering from long-term war-related distress who fell through the net of local therapies. Their condition was described as, ‘madness’ - amunare acou (literally ‘a spoilt/rotten head’). In one case people described a man who was forever drunk, violent and incoherent as being amunare acou. He had been frontline UPA rebel, one of Hitler Eregu’s bodyguards. It was said that having the sound of gunfire constantly in his heart and having been in a position to acquire much ‘bad knowledge’ caused his ‘madness’. In other case a young girl said to have been the subject of witchcraft after the war in which her father had been killed and unable to propitiate the charms he had put in his house (this case will discussed further in Chapter Seven), she wandered around Nyadar, often naked, mumbling incoherently. Both were taken by their families for healing with local church leaders and traditional healers, yet showed no improvement. In time both were 319 increasingly abused by people in Nyadar as being “hopeless” and “disturbing”. Both were the topic of considerable discussion over what could be done. While countering the harmful imposition of models of western psychotherapy with description of local contingencies, there has to be care to not position the local alternatives as all effective. Local therapeutic strategies can be unaccommodating and even cruel (Allen 1998). In Nyadar people clearly recognised that they did not have all the solutions for emotional recovery. Once again there was understanding that post-war recovery did not involve the reconstruction of a flawless society. For some in Nyadar post-war recovery did not involve the recovery of a life worth living; it was a process full of tension and disappointment. 320 1 See Appendix Six. 2 The words ‘trauma’ and ‘distress’ are often used loosely in academic writing (Richman 1996: 10). I use the word ‘trauma’ to refer to moments in the conflict, which have an emotional and psychological impact. Other writers might use the words ‘threat’, ‘stressor’ ‘severe events’ or ‘adversity’ here. I use the word ‘distress’ to refer to the ongoing state of emotional and psychological upheaval, which is caused by such trauma. Other writers might use the words ‘reaction’ ‘response’ or ‘trauma’ instead. 3Eial: traditional healing. 4Such results are confirmed in the work of Bat Zion (1993) who shows that the intensity of Israeli young people’s reaction to missile attacks during the Gulf War was directly proportional to their proximity. Smyke (1987) has shown, amongst Afghan refugees in Pakistan, that the duration of political violence also contributes to the likelihood of negative responses. 5 See Plate 17, Appendix 6. 6The word, ‘to lose’, ‘be bereft o f - atwaniar, derives from the word ‘to die’ - atwanare. 7When people in Teso point to their “heart”, they point to what we would call their stomachs. 8 During my time in Nyadar I saw many people suffer from aomisio. One of the oldest men in the village died reportedly from aomisio-, he could never stop thinking and mourning for the herd of cows he had lost in the war. Schola worried that she had contracted HIV from soldiers during the war and became increasingly thin. When one of the wives of a former county chief died suddenly, her co-wives and mother-in-law developed aomisio because they could not stop thinking about the fact that her burial was dictated by the straits of impoverishment. They could not even afford to slaughter a goat for the funeral feast. Yet in the past theirs had been a home of over 600 cattle. The war has seen the increase of aomisio because of the rise in ichan, ‘poverty/suffering’. It is in loss that the social, material and psychological impacts of war are combined. It is in aomisio that the these are expressed. 9In western medical terms this would be diagnosed as ‘stomach ulcers’; again, when pointing to where ‘ulcers in the heart’ would be felt, people in Nyadar pointed to what we would call their stomachs. 10The reference to change coming from ideas given by other was ubiquitous in conversations in Nyadar. For example talking with an 18 year old girl about her lack of education she explained “You see my father used to be a good man who believed in educating girls. But then one day some of his friends came to drink beer with him and they gave him the idea that it was useless to educate girls because you loose the money in school fees only to then loose the girl in marriage and after that none of us [she is one of four sisters] were sent to school.” Or when talking with an elderly men about why he moved to Nyadar “I was living there across the swamp when one of my friends came and gave me the idea of moving this way because the land was more fertile and vacant”. nThis is said to be caused by having to support the weight of thoughts. 12This is not to say that people laughed about every memory associated with the conflict; there were some things which were just not funny. 13Other variations included a story about a family who was attacked by Karamojong raiders. The Karamojong came to the house, knocked on the door, opened it and found no one there. Meanwhile the whole family were hiding in the rafters, they dropped down behind the Karamojong, ran out of the door, locked it and set the building alight. Or the man who dug a tunnel from under his drinking pot in his home to the bush. When the Kajong entered he ran down the tunnel and escaped. Or the man who kept a goat’s hide under his bed. When the Karamojong came he slipped it on and mingled in amongst his herd for safety. 14When Nyadar became a militarised zone late in 1997 and a curfew was imposed, people drew comparison to the time of conflict through the physical actions of having to be inside by nightfall and having to thus eat earlier. 321 Plate 12: PLAYING WAR Members of Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group stand with the guns they have made out of grass to enact a play of the war. Children from Nyadar Primary School watch the play. 3 2 3 Chapter Seven THE COSMOLOGY OF RECOVERY In previous chapters I have considered different aspects which people in Nyadar considered central to their understandings of a ‘way of life’, areas which frame what it is to be an effective person in the world, to have ‘life’. In this chapter I consider the last of these aspects - the spiritual dimension to life. Whilst living in Nyadar I heard the following tales told by different people, at different times and in different settings. One evening I stayed at a friend’s house in Nyadar. His friends and relatives gathered round the beer pot and, knowing that I was interested in tales of the war, encouraged one of the group to tell me the following story that they had heard and laughed over many times before. Magdelen was a widow living alone on her former husband’s land. “One morning I was at home and the chickens had laid a lot of eggs. As I was gathering the eggs I heard gunshots behind me in the bush. My neigbour Akeke came running and said to me “Run, run with me, we will be attacked.” Then I started running leaving all those eggs there [laughter]. We ran into the bush and I looked behind me. I looked up and down at those who were carrying the guns and I saw that they had no clothes on and I thought to myself “Karamojongs!” [laughter]. They were running very fast and I said to Akeke “Woman! Fall down!” So we fell down in the bush there and hid ourselves from view [laughter]. The Karamojongs came up to the place where we were. They started searching in the bush for us, waving their guns. I was just keeping quiet. One Karamojong came nearer and nearer. I didn’t even breathe. Then he put his foot on top of me. Okwe [surprise]! And he didn’t notice. Okwel Okwel He walked on by and he didn’t even notice [laughter]! After some time when I was sure that the Karamojong had gone I reached to Akeke and we stood up and I told her what 325 had happened. “Oh” she said, “it is good that the Karamojong do not wear shoes [it makes their feet hard] so they cannot feel anything” [laughter]. Then we went back home.” Acire Magdelen, aged 60, Nyadar, 20.1.98 The second was told at a Pentecostal church prayer meeting where people were sharing their testimonies of belief: “I tell you why I praise God, because he is the one to keep me. In fact he is the one keeping me from the time I was bom until this very day. He knows everything and that is why I praise him. I am a saved Christian and God has saved me. I saw this that time of Karamojongs. I tell you, there was one time that I was hiding in the bush, hiding from Karamojongs who were attacking our place there in the village. The Karamojongs came looking for us, closer and closer. The one of the Karamojongs stepped on me and God kept him from noticing me there. The Karamojong walked over me and passed on into the bush. It was God, I tell you, and it was God who saved me that time and that is why I praise him. Amen.” Opolot Lazuro, 28, Nyadar, 20.3.97 The use of the same example of narrow escape - being stepped on by a Karamojong whilst hiding in the bush and the Karamojong not noticing - in different narrative contexts is striking. The first falls into the genre of humourous narrative described in the previous chapter, it highlights Karamojong ineptitude and failure. The second, however, ascribes the redemptive experience to God and is given as the basis for Christian belief. The first belongs to a process in which people in Nyadar are redefining their experiences of conflict through humour. Such redefinition forms an important part of the emotional regeneration of the person in the recovery process. The second tale belongs to a process in which the conflict is defined through cosmological understandings. 326 In this chapter I consider the place of cosmological beliefs as both a phenomenological and practical resource in the post conflict period, resources that are implemented in the process of a regeneration of ‘life’. Summerfield, Braken & Gillier (1995: 1079) note the common presence of religion and ritual to processes of recovery, healing and therapy in societies affected by conflict. Reynolds (1996: xxx) suggests that this role relates to the centrality of religion and ritual to issues of knowledge, emotion, power, identity, well being and upheaval in societies. Marris (1974) argues that religion plays a key role in the ‘conservative impulse’ of people in times of crisis because it provides such structures for conceptual meanings but also for social action and relationships. Cosmology is also central to James’s (1988) understanding of the cultural archive. It is in ritual praxis that she finds evidence of consistency of Uduk ideas about the person. In this chapter I examine how this is the case for people in Nyadar. I expand on three points. First, the cultural corpus of cosmological praxis and belief is one influenced by historical notions of Christianity. Second, the impact of the conflict and how that impact is perceived is such that certain aspects of cosmology have no place in processes of recovery in Nyadar. Third, I identify the range, variety and negotiation in the way people implicate beliefs in processes of redefinition and the regeneration of a sense o f ‘life’. THE COSMOLOGY OF THE ITESO Lawrence (1957: 182) suggests that pre-colonial cosmology in Teso was marked by two entities a God on high - Akuj, whose power was seen as beneficial and the God of calamity - Edeke, who controlled sickness and disasters. Those who befell such calamities propitiated Edeke at altars in the home - abila. In addition Lawrence suggests that the Iteso believed, as they do today, in a spiritual world inhabited by ajokis, spirits. These spirits include those of ancestors - imusimum , who possessed their living descendants when dissatisfied as to the attention given to their graves. 327 Imusimum are not directly worshipped or propitiated by their descendants (Akello 1981: 109) and hold less influence in Iteso social life than ancestral spirits do for other ethnic groups in Uganda (e.g. Middleton 1960). Other spirits are free spirits - ajokis, who lived in lakes and streams and who might be summoned through witchcraft, ekia, either for beneficial purposes, through a ‘witch doctor/healer’ - e/wwrow, or for evil purposes through witchcraft conducted by a ‘wizard’ - echudan. What is better documented is the fact that since colonialism the adoption of Christianity in Teso has been prolific and to a far greater extent than amongst other eastern Nilotic groups (Nagashima 1998: 230). The spread of Christianity has had profound impact upon Iteso cosmology. This change is evident in the beliefs professed by people today. Strikingly there has been a conflation of Akuj and Edeke into one supreme God, referred to by both terms and also with the name ‘The creator’ - Lauasuban} By the 1950s Wright (1942) could find no instance of abila within individual homes. Certainly in Nyadar there were no abila within households. Instead people communicated with God - Edeke/Akuj/Lauasuban, through churches and prayers. People in Nyadar understand God - Edeke, as part of many of the cultural representations already discussed in the thesis. First, Edeke is seen as the pinnacle of the lines of ‘keeping’ and ‘creation’ amongst kin. Understandings as to the relationship between children and parents through the concepts of ‘creation’ and ‘keeping’ were exactly mirrored in ideas about the relationship between Edeke and people. People considered that although parents ‘created’ a child through sexual relations, the ‘womb’ was ultimately put there by Edeke, accounting for the fact that some women could become pregnant and some could never do so.2 Thus Edeke was seen as the supreme creator of all people, reflected in the name ‘Creator’ - Lauasuban. Likewise just as parents ‘kept’ a child with the provision of meals, possessions, nurture and health care so Edeke was seen to ultimately ‘keep’ humanity with the provision of food with power over sickness and wealth. The ability of parents 328 to ‘keep’ children was seen as always subject to the ultimate control of Edeke. When a child died the parents were comforted with the idea that Edeke had chosen to take the child back, perhaps helping it from further suffering or being kind to the parents because that particular child was going to cause them problems later in life. People in Nyadar understood that whatever the changing relationship between children and parents as children grew into itunanak, it all took place under the command and creation of Edeke. Young people were aware that whatever their best efforts towards independence and full adult agency, ultimate control and decision was in the realm of God as Edeke. They saw that since he was the ultimate creator and had had a major part in their own creation, they would never be free of his influence, which was the foundation o f‘life’ itself. Second, Edeke was understood as the creator, font and controller of all knowledge, acoa. When a child was bom in Nyadar and relatives gathered to see it for the first time they would often remark “God is very knowledgeable/clever” - “ Acoa Edeke nof\ remarking on the perfection of the child’s body and the creative knowledge behind it. And, in that people’ lives were marked by the need for knowledge for personal and social development, it was understood that life was lived through a trajectory with Edeke, as the source of knowledge, at the top. People in Nyadar understood that Edeke most directly communicated knowledge through dreams - arujasia. All dreams, both nighttime and day time, were said to involve mental images from spiritual sources. Whereas the Devil was said to be the source of ‘bitter’ dreams, Edeke was seen as the source of ‘sweet’ ones. ‘Sweet’ dreams were said to contain ideas that could create positive influence and change for an individual person. ‘Sweet’ dreams could also contain predictive knowledge, foretelling events and calamities. These were said to have been placed in people’s heads by Edeke to warn people. In both ways dreams were a window through which Edeke exerted an influence on the world. Thus Iteso understandings of dreams offer a 329 forward rather than reflective explanation; the intervention of Edeke through dreams insured the smooth integrity of person with events through both ideas and knowledge. Edeke was also understood through the sense of knowledge - acoa, as out-witting and trickery. It would be simplistic to say that Edeke was understood by people in Nyadar as morally ‘good’, more accurate would be a definition of Edeke as morally powerful. For Edeke was seen to be the controller of misfortune and ichan. Such misfortune was part of the acoa of Edeke. When Nyadar was hit by drought in 1997 people in the parish often commented on the situation that “God is very stubborn/playful” - “palyono Edeke nof\ There was a feeling that Edeke would outwit people from feeling too secure or confident by sending misfortune, which would increase their reliance and focus away from themselves and back to God. This was the ‘stubborn/playful’ side of Edeke. People in Nyadar reasoned that God wanted people to recognise that He was in control and that His ‘cleverness’ was to prove this. Young people recognised that the ‘hard work’ of growing up could be exacerbated by this ‘stubborn/playfulness’ of God. This links to the third understanding of Edeke, as the controller of fortune. People held that ultimately all wealth - e bar it as, was in the hands of God. The material exchanges of ‘keeping’ and ‘creation’ were exchanges that occurred under the jurisdiction of Edeke and, however much people sought control over and influence in such exchanges, their ultimate success was seen to be determined by God. The conflation between wealth and Edeke was evident in the use of the word isirigin for both money and blessing. Unprecedented financial success and monetary gain were often attributed to Edeke through the idiom of love and blessing. Thus for example, if a young man were to acquire a new cow people would not only remark that it “comforted life” - “ ilelakarit aijar”, but also that “God really loves him” - “emina Edeke ngesi not\ In the same way those struck by ichan and impoverishment would accord causality to Edeke. It was the greatest source of comfort on death and loss for people to console “God knows everything” - “ejeni Edeke kere”. 330 Postcolonial cosmology in Teso holds Edeke/Akuj/Lauasuban as the supreme spiritual being, the ‘keeper’ of people, a controller of fortune and as the source of knowledge and ideas. Notions of ‘life’ and of personal volition were framed by such cosmology and thus, as will be shown later, the regeneration of a sense of personal efficacy in the post conflict period has taken place through such understandings. Yet people were aware of their own volition in regards to God. They held that the efficacy of words could be directed to Edeke in prayer and that God would respond to requests made in such a way, as He would reward those who recognised him. Apart from the coalescence of understandings of God, the other major introduction of Christian beliefs in Teso has been the figure of the Devil - Ajokin. Ajokin is posited as a figure of moral evil whose jurisdiction is both in events, calamities and sickness and in the actions of people. Ajokin is said to have major influence on people through their dreams. By putting ‘bitter’ dreams into the minds of people Ajokin is said to predict and struggle for their future harmful action and to determine forthcoming events of death and suffering. Christian teaching has involved the definition of these two moral forces in Iteso imagination, on the one hand the morally powerful figure of Edeke, on the other the morally evil figure of Ajokin. There has, however, been a situation of syncretism between Christian and pre-colonial system of beliefs in Teso that makes the history of Christianity, as is common throughout Africa (Marks & Rathbone 1983: 156), one of interaction as opposed to imposition. Many elements of pre-colonial belief systems still remain convincing to people in Nyadar. Yet it is important to point out that the beliefs of different people in Nyadar evidence the fact that the extent and range of this syncretism is various. Here I will consider the cosmological syncretism as a range of possibilities and draw out two distinct cosmological schema as extreme examples of all the possible permutations of cosmological belief held by people in Nyadar. 331 The first schema is the one most commonly held by people in Nyadar. It sees people in terms of two morally defined states of being. People could either live in a positive state of peace, health and wellbeing - engaaleun, or in the negative state o f‘suffering’ - ichan, of being ‘disturbed’ - aitapasik, and sick - edeka. These conditions arise in terms of a cosmological schema in which Edeke is posited as the morally powerful force with ultimate control over both ‘well-being’ and ‘disturbance’. Ajokin is posited as an independent author of disturbance. In addition states of ‘well-being’ or ‘disturbance’ are influenced by spirits - ajokis and imusimum , and by people more closely linked to the spiritual world, ‘healers’ - emuron and ‘wizards’ - echudan. Ajokis are the spirits, thought to be created by Edeke, who live in watery places such as rivers and lakes and in the mountains. Some people in Nyadar claimed to have seen them as white bodies who move around at night - ecwamin. Like Edeke, ajokis are involved in both peaceful and disturbing situations. They may possess people causing them to become ill but if the victim propitiates the spirit the ajokis can become a ‘friend’. This is the sequence undergone by those who are ‘healers’ - emuron in Nyadar. Of the three emuron in the parish each had initially been possessed by three or more ajokis. Through the mediation and divination of a senior emuron they had been told that they had been chosen by ajokis to become an emuron and that if they failed to propitiate the spirit they would die. Each entered on a period of training as an emuron that involved making visitations to the home of the spirits they were possessed by and making presentations there until their sickness ceased and the ajokis became their friend. It was their friendship with the ajokis that allowed them to work as diviners and healers for those who were sick.3 Ajokis are involved, though emuron , in healing, in converting a ‘disturbing’ situation into a condition of peace and health. Ajokis can also be involved in ‘disturbing’ situations. This occurs when they are contacted for evil purposed by ‘wizards’ - echudan. Those accused of being echudan in Nyadar were often socially marginal figures, thus the old single men who lived in Oditel were often considered echudan. 332 Echudan are said to be contacted when people bore a grudge or jealousy and wanted to inflict misfortune to a rival or enemy through witchcraft - ekia. Ekia was performed in three ways: either the echudan provided ‘poison’ which could be placed in the food or home of a victim thus causing illness and often death, or the echudan used bodily substances, hair or feces, stolen from the victim and in burning the substances caused harm to the victim, or the echudan contacted ajokis to waylay a victim at night, in this guise ajokis appeared as bright lights. Through such an encounter a victim could experience deep fear and would often develop aomisio. As well as ajokis the cosmological world of this schema is inhabited by spirits of ancestors - imusimum , who can also ‘disturb’ their descendants. People held that those who died went to heaven, Akuju. Heaven was seen as a place of comfort, wealth and health inhabited by spirits with human form under the provision and blessing of Edeke.4 However it was also held that the contentment of those in heaven was in the hands of those on earth and that unless the dead were properly buried and their graves kept tidy, imusimum would become restless in heaven. They would come to earth to possess those in their home who were neglecting the resting place of their physical bodies. Of the four cases of possession divined to be by imusimum during my fieldwork in Nyadar one was a ten-year-old girl who became ill with fits and fainting. She was diagnosed by an emuron to be possessed by the spirit of her grandfather who complained that he had been buried without his body being wrapped in a sheet. A second was a young man, aged twenty-five who became increasingly thin, woke up screaming in the night and was considered to be ‘spoilt in the head’ - amunare acou,. He was divined to be possessed by the spirit of his paternal uncle who had been killed as a rebel during the conflict. His uncle was said to be complaining that when his relatives had interred his body from the bush after his death they had left behind one rib. The third was a woman of twenty-five years who suffered from fits and fainting. She was divined to be possessed by the spirit of her father’s brother (she was still 333 living at her natal home) who complained that the roots of a tree was growing into his bones in his grave. In each case a night vigil was held at the appropriate grave, several emuron attended and beat drums throughout the night and a goat was killed over the grave with the blood soaking into the earth. Subsequent to this the victims suffered no further illness. In summary, in this schema the person is held to be set in a cosmological universe where many agents can work for both well being or ‘disturbance’. Those agents include the figure of Edeke, God and Ajokin , the devil as defined through Christian influence and the figures of ajokis, imusimum , emuron and echudan. The schema is drawn below. However not all ‘disturbance’ is perceived to come from cosmological sources; in the recognition of witchcraft, jealousy and Aids, people hold that social emotions and behaviour may equally contain the seeds of destruction, suffering and disturbance. Many people in Nyadar were also familiar with western biomedical understandings and just as they might attribute illness to cosmological readings so too may they attribute it to medical reasons. Figure 7.1 represents one schema of belief amongst those in Nyadar. The schema evidences a host of possibilities through which people both understand their fortune and misfortune and may address this. In it the role of Emuron is pivotal. For through ‘friendship’ with ajokis, emuron are able to diagnose what the source of misfortune is, either from possession by ajokis, possession by imusimum , from witchcraft or from medically defined sickness. 334 Figure 7.1 Representation of one schema of cosmological belief in Nyadar: WELL BEING DISTURBING GOD tiDEKE DEVIL AJOKIN AJCiKIS IMUSIMUM EMURON ECHUDAN PEOtPLE (‘sweetness’; food, (jealousy, Aids, sickness drink, healing aomisio) laughter, ideas) Key Wellbeing Disturbing/illness Healing Witchcraft Dreams, knowledge, keeping, Trickery Acoa blessing Dreams Possession Possession Social interaction Social interaction Figure 7.1 represents one schema of belief amongst those in Nyadar. The schema evidences a host of possibilities through which people both understand their fortune and misfortune and may address this. In it the role of Emuron is pivotal. For through ‘friendship’ with ajokis, emuron are able to diagnose what the source of misfortune is, either from possession by ajokis, possession by imusimum, from witchcraft or from medically defined sickness. In this schema God and the Devil form a outer layer of spiritual influence who control, often through dreams, events and the broader direction of fortune and misfortune. There is 335 ) however, much variance between different people as to how they see the overall schema fitting together. One striking difference is in the relationship between Edeke and Ajokis. All three of the emuron in Nyadar belonged to the Catholic Church and, like other Catholics, tended to call God Lauasuban rather than Akuj or Edeke. In this they stressed the character of God as ‘creator’, including his creation of ajokis as powers for potential good in the world. They stressed the equal influence of Lauasuban and ajokis in the lives of people. In contrast those in the Protestant church tended to play down the relationship between God, who they referred to as Edeke, and ajokis and posit Edeke as ultimate and not co-equal controller. Likewise the place of imusimum was ambiguously defined. Some saw that they were created and controlled by the Devil, others saw them as independent forces. These variations mean that the schema presented above is only one in a range of permutations. At the other end of this range is a distinctly different schema, drawn below in Figure 7.2. This is the schema of belief held by those in Nyadar known as ‘saved’ Christians, from Protestant, Catholic and Pentecostal churches. ‘Saved’ Christians point to a moment of personal conversion in their lives in which they take on a new understanding of God as ‘Lord’ - Ejakite. Aminu Sam, aged 19, was another good friend of mine. He was one of the most active members of the Nyadar Church of Uganda youth group. Not going to school and having ample spare time he devoted much of his days to church activities and was hoping to become a pastor. He talked of his conversion as we sat in his home where he lived with his widowed mother and older sister: “I got saved when I was fourteen years old and living in Oditel camp. Some preachers came from the PAG church and preached very powerfully. Oh! Those people could really preach! They told us that God had the strength to save us from sin and that we could follow him. Those words really touched my heart and I decided to get saved. Then I knelt down there and then and prayed to God.” Aminu Sam, 19, Nyadar, 10.6.97 336 Being a ‘saved’ Christian involves a re-definition of the cosmological schema into distinct lines of good and evil. Such morality is taught in churches. This teaching positions God, Ejakite, as the author of fortune and blessing, of healing and also as being in control of all events, whether for good or ill, for the ultimate good of people. The schema positions the Devil as the antithesis of God, as the author of all evil. Most distinctly the schema places the Devil as the creator and controller of all other spiritual forces, of both ajokis and imusimum and of those who come into contact with them, emuron and echudan, which are thus all defined as evil and harmful. There is much slippage between this schema and the other alternative. So that many ‘saved’ Christians would take sick children to an emuron for diagnosis and treatment whilst being taught in church that such ‘healers’ were under the control of the Devil. However those who held firmly to the schema in both belief and practice were referred to as Balokole Christians .^Balokole were noticeable for not drinking alcohol, not disco dancing and for getting married in church before living with a partner. There were Balokole in all the churches in Nyadar, Catholic, Protestant and Pentecostal. Figure 7.2 Representation of Cosmological Schema held by Balokole Christians in Nyadar. WELL BEING/ GOOD DISTURBING/EVIL GOD EJAKITE HOLY SPIRIT DEVIL AJOKIN AJOKIS IMUSIMUM EMURON ECHUDAN PEOPLE (prayer, blessing, (drink, discos, laughter, ideas) sex outside marriage) 337 Key * Evil: dreams, possession * Good THE COSMOLOGY OF RECOVERY Having laid out the range of cosmological schema held by those in Nyadar, I now turn to assess how each is implicated in the post-war recovery process. This implication works on two levels. The humourous stories told by those in Nyadar were a resource that both defined understanding, involving the re-remembering of horrific events in a way that was manageable, and were a physical resource in themselves, in that they provided therapeutic ‘sweetness’. In the same way the schema I have presented above are both systems of understanding and of action. They provide a schema through which the conflict can be retrospectively understood and a resource for the practical management of recovery. Interpreting the Conflict When people in Nyadar turned to interpret the conflict, they did so from the starting point that the conflict consisted of a time of almost incomprehensible ichan, inflicted by Karamojong, NRA soldiers and rebels. In pin pointing the causes for such suffering people tended to imply only certain elements of the first cosmological schema and to completely pass over others Those agents said to hold responsibility are shown in Figure 7.3. 338 Figure 7.3 Causes of the conflict: those agents said to be responsible for the conflict in bold WELL BEING DISTURBING GOD EDEKE DEVIL AJOKIN AJOKIS IMUSIMUM EMURONECHUDAN PEOPLE (‘sweetness’; food, (jealousy, Aids, sickness drink, healing aomisio) laughter, ideas) The ways in which each of these agents were said to have been part of the causes of the conflict were various and overlapping and there was no coherent explanation amongst people in Nyadar as to each of their separate roles. For example students in the secondary school gave the following explanations for the conflict: “My explanation for the Karamojong raiding is that the Devil gave them to do that but let us pray that God will forgive them. The rebels went to the bush because they wanted to cheat and kill people for nothing. Even then the Devil was helping them.” “The Karamojong came to raid Teso because they were jealous of the beautiful cows of the Iteso people and because they did not have food and only had milk. The rebels fought because they wanted to get money and because they wanted to fight the government.” “The rebels went to the bush because they wanted to help people to chase away the Karamojong” 339 “The Karamojong took the cattle from the Teso because they were jealous of them and the actions of the NRA forced the rebels to go to the bush.” “The rebels went to the bush because most of them had lost relatives during the fighting.” “The Karamojong fought against the Iteso because it is written in the Bible that those things will happen. The rebels went to the bush because they were jealous of power.” “Rebels went to the bush because the resources were not equally distributed in the country”. “The Karamojong went to raid the Iteso because they are lazy and that is their easy way of getting rich.” “The Karamojong raided the cattle from the Iteso because God had decided that the Iteso had become too proud in their wealth and he sent the Karamojong as a punishment on the Iteso.” “The Karamojong raided the cattle from Teso because the Devil was disturbing them. The rebels went to the bush out of their jealousy.” “The rebels went to the bush because after all the destruction caused by the Karamojong they saw that the government was not helping them and they wanted revenge and they wanted to take over the government.” These explanations highlight that only some aspects of the cosmological schema are implicated as responsible for the afflictions caused by conflict. First, there is no role given to spirits - imusimum and ajokis. In this there is discontinuity between explanations as to the affliction of the conflict and explanations as to the afflictions of daily life. It was a widely held belief in Nyadar that during the time of conflict both ajokis and imusimum had run away, being terrified of the noise of gunfire and had little to do with the fighting. This contrasts with what Allen (1992: 244) has suggested for the Madi of north Uganda. He states that, for the Madi, affliction is expressed in ill health and 340 notions of health are understood through moral spiritual concerns. It is this that creates a continuum between spiritual concerns and methods of interpreting and addressing the affliction caused by the conflict. Amongst the Iteso however notions of affliction are broader than notion of ill health and include the experience of loss and ichan, ‘poverty/suffering’ as well as the experience of ‘disturbance’ - aitapasik, which does often results in sickness. Ichan has wider causality than the ‘disturbance’ brought by spirits. There is, therefore, a broad disjunction between the understanding of spiritual concerns and the understandings of the conflict. This is confirmed when people in Nyadar say that the spirits ran away during the conflict. As discussed in the introduction, Zur (1993: 315) found such disjunction in her work amongst Quiche war widows in Guatemala. Quiche saw traditional categories of spiritual violence as completely different from categories of political violence and turned to discourses of politics and Christianity to form their understandings of the political conflict rather than more ‘traditional’ discourses.6 Second, however, there is continuity in explanations of the affliction of conflict and the affliction of daily life is in the role attributed to God - Edeke, and the Devil - Ajokin, evident in the quotations above. Both are seen as powerful agents behind the conflict, though there is much ambiguity as to who had ultimate control. On the one hand Edeke is seen, in his ‘cleverness’ - acoa, to have controlled the conflict as a means of limiting the pride and wealth of the Iteso, on the other the Devil is seen to have inspired the conflict through his control of evil. Despite the ambiguity it is clear that people interpret the conflict through Christian influenced discourses. In this sense there is a coalescence between the two examples of cosmological schema presented in Figures 7.1 and 7.2 above, with major influence given to God as morally right and the Devil, as morally evil. Such agreement was common amongst people in Nyadar and people often used Biblical idioms to describe their experiences during the war.7 Thus the experience of the camp was often described as an ‘exile’, as one elderly woman, a friend of mine from Soroti who had been involved in the UPA rebel movement, put it: 341 “Don’t you know that God punished the people of Israel and they suffered terribly in exile. So too we were punished. That day when we were gathered into the camp, I saw people coming from all directions with their property on their heads and I looked behind and I saw the soldiers herding them carrying their loot, all the chickens and all the goats. And I thought to myself the words of Moses “Let my people free.”” Frieda Adiamu, aged 65, Soroti, 6.12.96 The absence of spiritual forces and the prevalence of Christian discourses, in understandings of the conflict is not total. Those who were UPA combatants during the fighting suggest that, as in other conflicts in Africa (Lan 1985; Ranger 1985; Heike 1999), they consulted both ecudan and shamans from other areas in Uganda as sources of power and influence for their military tactics. Many ex-combatants said that they wore etal tokens around their neck for protection, though they also ridiculed accounts of Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit Movement who drew on traditional medicines for efficacy. In addition people in Nyadar pointed out that a large number of those killed by both NRA and rebel groups were accused of being ecudan and of providing spiritual protection to one side over another. However they also stated that these were misguided killings and that the accusation of being an echudan was a cover for other motives for the attack especially since the spirits had run away rendering echudan impotent. This links to a third point to be made about the causalities given to the conflict. There is a continuum between understandings of witchcraft and understandings of the conflict, a continuum that works through understandings of jealousy. People in Nyadar often referred to jealousy when explaining the conflict, the jealousy of Karamojong over Iteso cattle, the jealousy of UPA rebels over the power of the NRM government. They talked of the jealousy of rebels groups for the possessions of civilian populations that led to interpersonal attacks as the conflict deteriorated. 342 As stated in Chapter five, jealousy - ilalakara, is considered by people in Nyadar to be one of the most ubiquitous and dangerous of emotions in social life. Jealousy is seen as always linked to action, most often the action of witchcraft. In talking of the causes conflict in terms of jealousy people talk of it in the same terms as they talk of witchcraft and stress a similarity in the motivations of those who participated in the violence of fighting to the motivations of those who effect witchcraft. Both witchcraft and violence are seen to be motivated by a desire either to protect wealth or from the interpersonal desire of other people’s wealth in situations of inequality. A parallel is described between political ambition, the violence of the conflict and witchcraft. Yet even here people posit a disjunction between the ‘disturbance/affliction’ from witchcraft in day to day life and the ‘disturbance/affliction’ from conflict. This disjunction is morally framed around questions of scale. Thus a young man in Nyadar commented during a group discussion on the subject; “Witchcraft is normal, but the things I saw those days of war were not normal. A person using witchcraft kills only one person at a time but with a bomb you kill many.” Okilan Augustine, 17, Nyadar, 24.4.97 As much as jealousy was seen to underlie both witchcraft and the conflict, it was also held that the effecting of jealousy through recourse to fighting was something phenemenologically different. For conflict involved the embodiment of a gun rather than the mediation of an echudan or ekia. This was ‘disturbance’ that was obvious and lethal, it gave the victim no chance of escape and it gave the perpetrator no cover of anonymity. The motivating emotion might be the same, but the method of effect was very different. 343 Understanding Recovery It is not only the conflict that is understood through cosmological discourses; the period of recovery and reconstruction is also described with reference to cosmological agents. Once again, such understandings are therapeutic in themselves; they are the way through which people assimilate and make the period of reconstruction meaningful. They are also practical resources that guide methods of recovery. People in Nyadar widely felt that the conflict drew to a close because God ordained it. As one man put it, again during a group discussion on the impact of the war: “Those days of war you would see our churches so full and packed with people praying to God. God heard those prayers and He thought “Enough is enough” and He set us free from the terrible things that were happening. But these days you find only a few people in church and people have gone back to their old ways [of not praying and coming to church].” Opolot Michael, 35, Nyadar, 11.2.97 People in Nyadar also often attributed thier material gains in the reconstruction period as provisions from God both in the capacity of Edeke!Lauasuban!Akuj to ‘keep’, to ‘bless’ and to provide ‘knolwedge’. The most successful shop keepers in Oditel constantly attributed the knowledge they held of market prices and of how to make money to God. In the post conflict era people saw that their prayers had regenerated a relationship to God in which Edeke was provider, keeper and controller for their well being. The churches in Nyadar have acted as key institutions of reconstruction.8 Many formal development projects have been channelled through the Catholic, Anglican and Pentecostal churches including various livestock re-stocking programmes. Churches have also had an informal role in creating forums for association and cooperation. In 344 Nyadar many friendships of both young and old were founded on meeting and talking at church and were consolidated through weekly prayer meetings at people’s homes. Many of the aleya groups formed by young people for agriculture were groups of friends from amongst the youth - itunanak, of a particular church congregation. The youth group of the Nyadar Church of Uganda was particually strong and the basis for the performance of plays of the conflict as discussed in the previous chapter. Churches generated community solidarity within the different denominations. However there was much tension between denominations. When I arrived in Nyadar there was particular tension between one of the Catholic churches and one of the Protestant churches. One of the prominent ‘rebels’ in the area had belonged to the Protestant church and was a regualar attender. He was seen to be responsible, during the conflict, for the attack on many homes of those who were Catholics and he was much reviled amongst the Catholic congregation.9 On a day to day basis there was much gossiped suspicion about the beliefs and practises of alternative churches and little community solidarity over-rode these divisions. The Devil - Ajokin , was given a place in the cosmology of reconstruction, specifically as an explanation of disturbing and ‘bitter’ dreams and memories. As stated above, dreams were understood by people in Nyadar as a predictive forum where Edeke and Ajokin played out their influence in future events. When people dreamt of incidents of the conflict, of seeing bodies mutialated and of running in fear, they understood that this was Ajokin , putting ideas into their minds, trying to make these things occur again in future. The cure was held to be both prayer, as a call to Edeke to take control, and the ‘sweetening’ words of others. Here the agency of cosmological beings in healing and recovery is combined with the social agency of people. This combination of spiritual and human intervention is seen in the healing of other cases of ‘affliction/disturbance’ brought by the conflict. Ichan was dealt with both through the material and ideological foundations of making money, re-equipping 345 homes, regenerating kinship obligations, all of which was held to be under the jurisdication of the ‘keeping’ and ‘knowledgeable’ figure of Edeke. In the same way aomisio was approached through recourse to traditional healers - emuron , who, though the guidance of spirits could dianose the symptoms of aomisio, and provide healing. Yet the most effective strategies in healing aomisio, as have been described, were recourse to human sociality, jokes, ideas and talk. Likewise the condition of madness - amunare acou, (literally a ‘spoilt/rotten head’) was approached through various understandings and methods. There were five cases of people with amunare acou during my fieldwork in Nyadar; three women and two men. Here I focus on the two cases that was said to relate to the experience of conflict.10 The first was a young girl from the family described in Chapter Six who became severely ‘disturbed’ and wandered around Oditel camp naked daily for more than a year, talking incoherantly. During this time she had a child but she refused to feed it and the child soon died. Her state was attributed to the influence of witchcraft, ekia, in her home, which her father had brought from Buganda and had buried in the home in order to protect his wealth. Her father had been killed in the war and with a lack of propitiation the Ekia was seen to have turned to evil rather than protective purposes, sending the girl amunare acou. The girls mother took her to an emuron who diagnosed the root of the problem and gave the family a herbal antidote to the harmful Ekia. Over the course of the year the girl’s mother took her to four different emuron , both in Nyadar and beyond without noticeable improvement. Meanwhile the girl’s aunt was a ‘saved’ Christian. She believed that her neice had been turned mad by the Devil afflicting her with dreams and memories of her father’s death. She took her to various prayer meetings to be prayed over, again with little noticeable success. At the same time close friends of the girl told me that a few years previously she had been married to a man with three other wives who repeatedly abused and beat her. The girl apparently attempted to commit suicide by taking Chloroquin tablets and swollowing two watch batteries. Her friends related her 346 ‘madness’ to the effect of the battery chemicals and often asked whether I knew of any medical cure in England that could treat her. The second case was a man who had served as a UPA rebel during the conflict. In November 1998, whilst visiting a home in Nyadar, I found the entire village gathered round the mattress of the man which had been laid out in the middle of his home. He was painfully thin, covered in sores and shouted loudly and continuously. Different parties gave different accounts of his affliction. Some attributed it to the fact that he had been resident for the last three years in Karamoja and had been bewitched by Karamojong. Others stated that an emuron had diagnosed that he was possessed by the spirit of his brother who had been killed during the conflict. There was a large group from the Pentecostal church who stated, with which the man agreed, that he was possessed by ajokis, sent by the Devil. The Christians prayed over him and read the Bible. Finally, as I rode away from the home, a group of young men rode up behind me on their bicycles calling me to stop. They commented: “You have to know, that he has Aids.” “Yes, his wife died with Aids some years ago, so it must be.” “We don’t know what to do because if we admit that he has Aids and take him to the Mission then they will give us some relief. What do you think?” In both these examples, mental and bodily affliction which related to the history of conflict were attributed to different causes, with reference to different discourses. And the different understandings applied brought different alternatives for treatment. What is important to note is that in these alternative explanations, various cosmological, human and medical influences are interwoven. Such interweaving reproduces the broadest schema (Figure 7.1) of what it is to be a person in a human and spiritual universe. Whereas explanations of the conflict coleseed such schema, understandings of recovery and reconstruction and of how to deal with the ‘afflication/disturbance’ brought by the conflict, are more wide ranging. 347 There are three points to be noted from such descriptions. First is the prevalence of biomedical explanations. Understandings of illness with recourse to medical diagnosis was an altenative paradigm in explanations of affliction in Nyadar. Pluralism in both explanations and therapies of affliction are common in many societies (e.g. Allen 1992). In Nyadar such pluralism is not a neutral choice. Defining affliction as caused by biomedical causes led to the need for expensive and time consuming treatment in clinics and health centres.11 On the other hand accepting illness as having biomedical cause could bring some advantages. As in the case of the former combatant with amunare acou, his family considered that by accepting his disease they might qualify for aid from western organisations.12 It was noticeable that explanations of the large number of deaths in Oditel camp during the conflict were always explained in terms of biomedical discourses, with acceptance of diseases such as cholera and dysentry and talk of the presence of soldiers in the barracks having contributed to the large numbers of people suffering from Aids. These explanations laid blame on the government for people’s ‘affliction/disturbance’ that manifested itself in illness, holding the NRA responsible for conditions in the camp. This links to the second point to be made about the discourses of afflication used in Nyadar in explanations of both the conflict and of the reconstruction period; the strong role of discourses of politics in talk of the‘affliction/disturbance’ brought by the conflict. Although many people rooted causes in cosmological schema, these intertwined with causes attributed to interpersonal relationships and to the structure of the soceity. People in Nyadar understood that political jealousy albeit inspired, as many saw it, by the Devil, was as potent a force in the circumstances of ‘poverty/suffering’ - ichan, and ‘affliction/disturbance’ - aitapasik, that they had experienced. They also held that only the political re-integration and peace of Teso would yield the wealth and well-being that they so desired. 348 Thirdly it is important to note the absence of talk of witchcraft in explanations of the post conflict period. In other parts of Uganda both Allen (1989) and Heald (1998) have shown how concern with witchcraft and witch hunts have acted as therapeutic mechanisms for communities destroyed by historical conflicts and events. They both suggest that witchcraft accusations arise as part of processes of communal self definition, cleansing and reconstruction after turbulent events. Those accused of witchcraft act as scape-goats for the tensions and distress of members of the community. The case in Nyadar is different. People unilaterally suggested that witchcraft accusations in the parish had gone down since the conflict. This was attributed to two reasons. First people acknowledged that many of those killed during the conflict had been accused of being ‘wizards’ - echudan , and as acting as a source of power for the opposing group. This had not only decreased the number of people involved in and knowledgeable of harmful practises of ekia but it had also raised the stakes, as it were, of making a witchcraft accusation. For such accusations had ended in the death of the accused rather than recourse to emuron and healing; during the conflict people were said to have ‘hired’ rebel groups to attack and kill those they suspected of using witchcraft against them. Likewise rebel attacks had replaced the use of witchcraft in the expression of jealousy and interpersonal grudges. In other words, the use of guns and visible violence had changed the balance of power between victims and perpetrators, a balance in which witchcraft accusations, as secret and covert, were replaced with overt aggression. The overt rather than covert expression of jealousy in Nyadar during the conflict affects the recovery process. As was clear in the previous chapter, healing therapies are based on all participants collectively understanding what is being discussed, referred to and joked about. This is in contrast to witchcraft accusations where violence is hidden and causalities remain suspicions, even if highly pervasive ones. 349 Second, people argued that witchcraft had decreased since the war because witchcraft proliferates in situations of wealth and inequality and arises from the concomitant jealousy that these situations bring. People saw that the conflict had acted as a leveller; all people had been reduced to a sitatuion of impoverishment, of ichan , thus taking away the conditions of witchcraft. They also held that the war had acted as a cleasner with the death of many who had been seen to be echudan. Thus a young woman commented during a group discussion in Nyadar, “The war here in Teso was very terrible and we lost a lot. I think that if there had not been a war then we in the village would have reached a state of development in which we were buying vehicle. But as it is we are really poor. On the other hand I do think that the war brought some advantages. It stopped those wealthy people using witchcraft and bringing evil into their homes. The war eliminated witchcraft.” Akweny Joyce, 11, Nyadar, 25.10.97 People in Nyadar draw a disjunction between the pattern of witchcraft prior to the conflict and after the conflict. With the conflict causing the decline of witchcraft, it follows that the process of recovery does not involve witch hunts. Instead recovery is centred on addressing the affliction of ichan , an affliction which is understood to have both cosmological and social causes. There are, however, some post conflict concerns with witchcraft in Nyadar. These relate to the concerns in the recovery process. Two of the most potent cases of affliction in Nyadar during my fieldwork were of homes where ekia had been buried prior to the conflict to protect wealth - ebaritas. In returning to these homes after the coflict, the ekia sought compensation for the years of neglect and afflicted members of the home. Recourse was taken to emuron. The second major witchcraft concern involved the Karamojong. People in Nyadar widely suspected the Karamojong of using witchcraft against the Iteso, as part of their jealousy. The danger of Karamojong 350 witchcraft was thought to be increasing as relations between the two groups became closer both through the entablishing of ‘friendships’ between Karamojong and Iteso young men and with the Karamojong brining their herds into Teso to graze. Many mothers in Nyadar took recourse to putting etal herbs around the buttocks and necks of their children to protect them from the ‘evil eye’ of the Karamojong. Those who drank together with Karamojong were careful to use separate straws and bottle for gin and beer to avoid poisoning. CONSISTENCY AND DIVERGENCE IN COSMOLOGICAL UNDERSTANDINGS Cosmological understandings are fundamental to the process of post-war recovery in Nyadar. They provide conceptual frameworks through which people attribute causes to their affliction. These interpretations impart meaning to a situation of past suffering and devastation and that meaning forms the basis of therapeutic direction for the present and future. It is a case similar to that described by Malkki of Hutu refugees in Tanzania. She notes (1995: 53) that the refugees described their suffering with recourse to Biblical idioms and strong ideas of the morality of the events they had lived through. These interpretations were both an explanation and a prescription for future action. Such examples are part of a wider phenomenon, in which cosmological understanding provide meaning at the heart of processes of historical transformations in socieites and are thereby reproduced (Comaroff & Comaroff 1993: xxx). In Nyadar, the conflict and consequences of the conflict are understood and addressed through cosmology, through principles integral to understandings of a ‘way of life’ and the constitution of personal efficacy. The principles are thus confirmed and reproduced, for example in the case of disturbing dreams. As Reynolds (1996: 25) has noted, cultural theories about dreams are closely linked to notions of the person and of agency. In Nyadar disturbing dreams are seen as under the jurisdiction of the Devil. They are part of the connection between the Devil and historical circumstances through 351 the person. Disturbing dreams are addressed through sociality and prayer to Edeke. The sufferer is regenerated to health through understandings of what constitutes and controls well being, notions which are thereby reproduced. There is evidence in Nyadar that a corpus of traditional moral knowledge is implicated as a resource in the processes of post-war recovery. However I wish to re-iterate four points evident in the material discussed above. First the moral knowledge implied in the recovery process is historically informed. This is clear in the centrality of Christian discourses. It is also evidenced in the fact that the concerns of witchcraft in the post conflict period were directly linked to historical circumstances involving inequalities of wealth, of relations with the Karamojong and of the reconstruction of homes. Just as Heald (1998: 230) has shown that witchcraft concerns amongst the Gisu were linked to historical formations of notions of community and identity, so in Nyadar witchcraft is related to the particular circumstances of reconstruction. Second, and related to this, not all cosmological agents are given a role in causing the conflict. For people in Nyadar, part of the history of the conflict involved the spirits running away. The limited role of the spirits in processes of post-wa recovery is thus historically determined. Third, explanations of the conflict and resources for recovery range beyond those of cosmological beliefs. Social, material, political, emotional and economic factors are involved which all involve moral knowledge. In Nyadar ichan is both a material and phenomenological condition, the recovery of ‘life’ is equally as much about re establishing a good political position within Uganda, of re-generationg the economic fortunes as the ‘home’, as it is about re-gaining a healthy relationship with spiritual forces. Finally, there is range in the resources of cosmological knowledge. As in the both cases of amunare acou, the explanations and therapies sought were various and contested by 352 different people. This negotiation within cosmological understandings is illustrated further by assessing the place of young combatants in Nyadar. The place of combatants The discursive explanations given above as to the causes of conflict and the nature of the process of reconstruction start from a premise that the war was a time of ichan, of suffemg and affliction, of loss, the negative impact of which extends into the present. The conflict saw the defeat of the UPA and brought widespread destruction to Teso. In this sense many people in Nyadar saw the conflict as detrimental and undesirable. Yet it is important to give space to another perspective amongst those in Nyadar; the sense in which the conflict itself was a moral history. Many in Nyadar still held that the cause for which the UPA fought was justifiable and immensely important. In this way, as discussed in Chapter Two, former combatants held an ambiguous position in Nyadar. On the one hand people critiscised the role they had played as agents of death and destruction, espeically those who had been involved in looting and interpersonal violence. On the other hand people validated and praised their role as “Teso boys” fighting in the name of threatened interests as an expression of identity and autonomy. This ambiguity given to the place of combatants was expressed in the description ‘stubbom/playful/clever’ - palyono. Former rebels and young combatants - agwayo, were often described as palyono , expressing both the undesirable and the admirable aspects of what they had done. Those who had been former combatants in Nyadar bore this ambiguity in the reconstruction period. They came home to households often attacked, burnt and looted by rebel groups, not just by the NRA. They came home as ‘losers’ of an important conflict and yet they also came home as ‘defenders’ of that home, of their interests, their stake in the future. 353 Of the former combatants I was conversant with in Nyadar it was noticeable that for many the experience of home coming or their ending of agwayo activities, had been followed by conversion to being a ‘saved’ Christian. These young men thus gave life histories of their experiences which was defined by the cosmological schema given in Figure 7.2. As Amou Nelson narrated as we sat with a group of his friend from the Oditel Church of Uganda youth group: “Those days when I was a rebel, it was the Devil leading. I used to whip people, looting fighting the soldiers, going to barracks, bombing some places, ambushing vehicles, robbing money and breaking into people’s homes, getting hens and pigs. I even reached to a place called and stole cattle from there. I even went to Kenya to get guns from there and I saw many people killed. I was fifteen years old when I became a rebel and a great annoyance came into my heart. The soldiers used to beat us so much because they didn’t like us youth, they accused us of making deals with the bush men so that is where I got the interest of becoming a rebel. Now I see that that was the Devil making me annoyed so that I would go to the bush. I came out of the bush in 1990 .... 1 got saved in 1991.1 thank God because He was the one to keep me through all that rebel activity. Now I have got a lot of things through the church. God was the one to provide me with relief food, even cassava stems for agriculture. I have even managed to marry with two cows. So I thank God.” Amou Nelson, 20, Nyadar, 9.1.97 Having become a ‘saved’ Christian Nelson, like many others, re-defined his rebel activities through recourse to a cosmological schema of clear moral good and evil. The past is seen as under the control of the Devil - Ajokin. The present and future, the history of reconstruction, re-integration and recovery, is put under the control of God as Ejakite. Not all ex-combatants have undergone such conversion and re-definition; some are shunned by the wider community in the light of the atrocities they have committed. Others have found solidarity through the political meetings still held by former UPA leaders .13 Yet a substantial number had found that a re-defined Christian cosmology and attendance at church youth groups gave them both a identity and group 354 solidarity. The majority of the church youth groups who performed plays of the conflict were former combatants. Scuh membership clarifies the ambiguity of being an ex combatant and provided cosmological and practical resources for managing reconstruction. For these ex-combatants the history of post-war recovery has involved, on a personal level, the re-generation of their identity and place in the community under a new schema of ‘life’ in a spiritual universe. 355 1 People in Nyadar generally used the words Akuj, Edeke and Lauasuban interchangeably for ‘God’. However some difference of emphasis was apparent. Akuj was the word used for ‘heaven’, the place of God but which incorporated God, and Edeke was used for the person of God. Lauasuban was the name for God more commonly used amongst Catholics, Edeke more commonly used amongst Protestants. These difference will be discussed below. 2 The ‘womb’ is the idiom used for pregnancy. Though it is customary not to ask a woman whether she thinks is pregnant, in her absence people will state that she is pregnant by saying that “ ejai ngesi akoiK’ “she has a stomach/womb.” 3 Each of the emuron (two of which were men, one of which was a woman) in Nyadar was ‘friendly’ with three or more spirits by whom they had originally been possessed. All of them were ‘friendly’ with a spirit called Elgon who lived on Mt Elgon in the east of Uganda and all three had made several trips to the mountain to make presentations to Elgon. When a sick person is brought to an emuron they will call their ajokis to them through shaking a rattle, beating a drum and performing a ceremony in the special hut which is built in the middle of their home compound for the spirits. This hut has two or three open doors. Outside is a small shrine usually with a cross and white flag. When calling the spirits the emuron wears white clothes. After calling the spirits the emuron asks them to tell them the cause of the patients sickness. The spirits speak by directing the fall of several beads, shells and coins that the emuron throws up onto a winnowing tray. The emuron reads the pattern of the fallen beads with reference to the words she hears from the spirits. The patterns of the objects tells the emuron whether the patient is sick because of possession by ajokis who want the patient to become an emuron, whether because of possession by imusimum, the spirit of ancestors, because of some illness that can be cured using local medicine, etal, or because of sickness that needs curing with recourse to western medicine. Each emuron in Nyadar was consulted on average about twice a week. During my fieldwork in Nyadar, none of all these consultations related to possession by ajokis, four related to possession by imusimum and the rest related to sickness curable through local or western medicine. 4 For example the following descriptions were given of heaven by people in Nyadar “In heaven everyone sits with his wife and everyone sits on a chair”, “In heaven there is alot of wind but everyone there looks very beautiful and puts on good clothes.” 5 This is a Bugandan word and is used throughout Uganda along with the English word ‘saved’ to designate those who live a distinctly ‘Christian’ life. 6 Similar disjunction has been found in research in Sri Lanka. People amongst the southern hill regions of Sri Lanka who had been involved in years of political conflict were found to talk about this violence in a completely different way than spiritual forms of violence. It was held that sorcery was linked to social forms of dispute and conflict. In comparison the use of guns in political conflict was seen as an unsociable form of dispute and that the spirits had become scarred of the extend of human cruelty and had left. The gun had ushered in new forms of collective imagining in which part of the society had stepped out of the collective imaginings involving sorcery. Sorcery was understood to be part of social relations, albeit it a destructive part, whereas the cruelty of political conflict was not. Pillen, A ‘Talking of Violence and denying witchcraft in Sri Lanka’ paper given at conference Rethinking Witchcraft and Violence UCL 12.12.98 and personal communication. 7 It is noticeable in an article by A Brett (1996: 286) where women and young people in Teso give testimonies and draw illustrations of their experiences during the conflict, that many of the drawings are interspersed with illustrations copied directly out of the ‘Good News’ Version of the Bible, which is the one most commonly available in Teso. 8 There were two Anglican, Church of Uganda, churches in Nyadar, two churches of the Pentecostal Assemblies of God (PAG) movement, the nearest Catholic church is attached to the White Fathers Mission in the neighbouring parish. 9 These tensions played a large part in my early fieldwork experiences; members of the Protestant church in Nyadar considered it unseemly that I, a Protestant, should live, as I was, with a Catholic family. A motion was put forward that the Protestant congregation would build a new house for me next to the Church of Uganda church. Over time these tensions died down, by the end of my fieldwork the main 356 concern by the church was my safety in living in the village, having moved out of Oditel camp with my host family. 10 The other two cases were cases of women who developed amunare acou for a short period of time. Both considered themselves as possessed by the Holy Spirit in Pentecostal ‘saved’ church meetings. They both wailed and cried repeatedly fainted and fell down and talked of the visions that God had given them. Within their respective churches both were interpreted as having been possessed by the Devil. Outside their churches people widely agreed that the women were possessed by the Devil as well as remarking on the fact that both women had recently lost small children and that their ‘madness’ was due to uncontrolled grief, which was not appropriate. The women were ‘healed’ through prayer meetings. The third case was the man mentioned in Chapter Six who had been a rebel combatant. He was said to have been turned amunare acou by the constant sound of gunfire during the conflict. I had little contact with him but he and his family apparently sought healing through recourse to both emuron and to prayer in his Anglican church. 11 The nearest clinic in Nyadar was that of the Catholic Mission. This charged 1500/= for a consultation as well as payment for treatment. The nearest health centre (for child immunisation) was ten kilometers away in the next trading centre and the nearest hospital in Soroti. 12 The Catholic Mission ran an Aids camp where sufferers in the last few months of life could be brought to receive free food and medical treatment up until their last few days of life when they were usually taken home to avoid the costs of transporting a dead body. The camp was funded by CAFOD. It had eighty beds and was generally full throughout my stay in Nyadar. 13 There was a noticeable change in the ethos of these meetings during my time in Nyadar. Though I did not attend the meetings I spoke to the leaders. In 1996 local leaders, former UPA members, were still bent on political opposition to Museveni. By 1998 many of the leaders were standing for election as L.C. officials and hoping that a “voice from within” would be more effective in expressing their claims and ideas. 357 358 Young people from Nyadar Pentecostal Assemblies of God church are baptised following their conversion The population of Oditel votes for a new L.C. 1 Chairperson Plate 13: NEW BEGINNINGS 341 342 CONCLUSION I return now to the central question of the thesis: what happened to a way of life in Teso after it was all but destroyed during the conflict that engulfed the region between 1979 and 1992? A Model of Life and Loss In the Introduction I discussed the problem of finding a suitable model of culture and change that could do justice to the nature of the post-war period in Nyadar. I needed a perspective that would attest to a civilian engagement with violence through a specific socio-cultural world and one that would acknowledge the ongoing historical nature of a culture. It was only though this outlook that I could begin to draw out both the cultural resilience and cultural change evidenced in the post-war period. My solution throughout the thesis has been to use the model of culture and of the post-war period proffered by the people in Nyadar themselves. For them the impact of the war has been framed through two key concepts: ‘life 5 - aijar, and Toss’ - ichan. In the course of the thesis it has become clear what people in Nyadar understand constitutes the praxis of a good and appropriate ‘life’. Those who have ‘life’ have wealth and well-being and can thus fulfil the cultural understandings of what it is to be an effective person in the world. In Nyadar the processes of wealth and well being are personal processes located in the home, processes that must be achieved by young people - itunanak, they are emotional attributes and are controlled through a relationship with spiritual forces. Wealth and well-being are intersubjective states and depend upon the common cultural praxis and resources, which underpins the sociological differences of life in Teso. A state of wealth and well being constitute personal identity, for they 361 allow people to be effective examples of what it is to be a person. At the same time wealth and well-being are inherent to an Iteso identity on a national level. The substance of this identity is deeply held cultural idioms of the person and of a ‘way of life’, one that is worth living. On both levels the concept of ‘life’ is closely linked to development. On an individual level people in Teso work to achieve ‘life’ through the developmental life stage of being itunanak. On a cultural level, historical development is implicit in the standards of wealth and well-being by which people in Teso measure and mark their lives. During the war people in Nyadar lost life, fer the years of war were those of intense suffering and loss - ichan. People in the parish were disenfranchised from their land and resources, they watched the herds of cattle stripped away and were moved into settlement camps where they were powerless and vulnerable. There was a popular story in Nyadar that was told as a comment on the conditions of the years of war. It tells of a man living in a camp during the UPA insurgency. During the night he would sneak out of the camp and go to steal food from the granaries that had been left unattended in people’s homes. One night, another man followed the thief from the camp for he suspected the first of stealing food from his granary back in the village. The second man caught the thief just as he was about to climb out of his granary with an arm full of food. “Come out, Come out” the owner of the home shouted, “There is no harm going to befall you,” but the thief remained hidden in the granary. The owner of the home circled the granary all night until just before dawn when he gets back to the cajnp in time for day-light. He knew that as long as he kept the thief in the granary until dawn he did not have to seek his own punishment. For as the thief tried to reach the camp again it was likely that he would be met either by soldiers who would kill him for being out of the camp or by rebels who would kill him for returning to the camp. People in Nyadar commented that the thief was “ikiliokit kiding ” “a man in between”. There was no escape for him and knowing this, the owner of the granary did not have to punish him himself - the thief would be punished though the wider forces at work from which there was no escape. Both rebels and the soldiers would be against him. It is a story that confirms how people in Nyadar see war " as a time when they 362 were disenfranchised from the moral standards of daily life, from the values and praxis, which they see as constituting normalcy. In contrast people in Nyadar say that the end of the war has been a ‘return to life’, a return to the good life, a life worth living, to normalcy. The end of the war has seen people return to conditions that allow people to be the people they would like to be, to have ‘life’, as that desire is culturally framed by the praxis of a ‘way of life’. From the point of view of people in Nyadar then, the post-war period has been one of cultural resilience, resurgence and conservatism; of returning to a life that is consistent with the underlying principles of what it is to be a person in Teso. The Evidence of Cultural Consistency In the proceeding chapters I have focused upon different components of ‘life’ in Nyadar - the home, young people, wealth, emotional well being and spiritual relationships. Each of these areas evidences cultural resilience despite the impact of the war. One of the clearest examples of this is how people in Nyadar have dealt with their memories of all that they witnessed and experienced during the conflict. They manage them in such a way that what has once been ‘bitter’ is now re-imagined as ‘sweet’. What is ‘bitter’ is detrimental to ‘life’, to personal effectiveness and to the well-being of the wider society, what is ‘sweet’ in contrast, is healthy and allows people to be emotionally effective people in their wider relationships and roles. ‘Sweetness’ is at the heart of the reproduction of a good life, ‘bitterness’ in contrast is to be confined and healed. Here is a clear instance when cultural principles and resources guide the project of post-war recovery in Nyadar. The long stranding corpus of cultural understandings, in this case those that relate to emotional well-being, are resurgent and work to confine the impact of the ichan of the war. This process is clear in other areas too: in the re-commitment to processes of the home, to marriage payments, to understandings of what it is to be a young person, itunanak, to understandings of ‘wealth’, the power of words, the place of 363 knowledge and the role of spiritual forces. The people of Nyadar have used the resources from a cultural corpus of moral praxis to deal with the losses of the war and to guide and implement the recovery process. It is by doing this that they have re-established a ‘return to life’, to patterns of relationships and understandings that confirm to what they consider it is to be an effective person in the world. This is not an achievement they take lightly or something they take for granted. For people in Nyadar even the mundane aspects of life after the war, being able to go to the well to collect water, seeing a goat give birth, planting a new tree in the home compound are all part of the re-creation process. The very conservation of a way of life even in its most mundane moments is, for people in Nyadar, what post-war recovery is all about. There is evidence in Nyadar of what the anthrppological literature attests to after historical events of profound impact in many other contexts; the resilience of cultural praxis. There is the trend that Marris (1974) postulated, the struggle to defend and recover structures of meaning and relationship despite the threat to them through loss. This is clearly shown in the commitment people in Nyadar have had to their homes and family life cycles. Although, for example, the means to effect agriculture and bridewealth exchange has been severely hampered, the practical and ideological commitment to these aspects of cultural praxis is clear and energetically applied in post-war Nyadar. Indeed, their importance has been raised both a sign of the return to normalcy and as practical resources in the struggle to re-achieve ‘life’ on an individual level. Social groups, such as aleya work parties, have been relied upon to achieve these basic tenets of a ‘way of life’ in Nyadar. Cultural praxis has been entrenched to assimilate the losses of the war. The post-war period thus evidences the resilience of and heightened commitment to the moral principles that inform understandings of ‘life’ in Nyadar. People in the parish have shown commitment to cultural ideologies such as marriage payments, what it is to be a young person, ideps of well-being and ‘disturbance’, of wealth, of ichan, of the power of words, knowledge, wetness, of how the body responds to events, of ‘sweetness’ ‘bitterness’ and joking. The strategies of recovery in Nyadar are effected through deepening adherence to these principles. 364 So, for example, while the salience of money is perceived as a new trend in life in Nyadar, money is conceptualised as ‘wet money’, consistent with the notion of the importance of ‘wetness/riches’ to a successful society and confirming the importance of agriculture and livestock practice. In the same way incidents of the conflict are re-told in way that stress the value of knowledge - acoa. Principles of moral praxis inform therapies and action at the heart of the processes of post-war recovery. They are resources, which are thus conserved and reproduced. The same goes for social institutions. Institutions such as marriage and bridewealth, agricultural work parties, churches, education, story-telling sessions, plays, and healers held an established place in social life in Nyadar before the war. Some institutions, for example bridewealth, were conserved during the conflict. All, however, serve as resources in the recovery of the society after the conflict. They serve to incorporate the impact of the war, for example the role of kinship and bond partnership in reconciliation, and due to this mobilisation the moral praxis of Iteso ‘life’ of which these institutions are a part, is affirmed and re created. Thus in Nyadar there is evidence of what James (1988) has suggested in her ‘cultural archive’ model of cultural life after times of disenfranchisement and upheaval. There is the continuity of moral themes and principles about the nature of personhood and identity. This is not surprising given the model of post-war recovery that people in Nyadar themselves hold. For them post-war recovery is about re-achieving ‘life’, efficacy, on a personal individual level. In the post-war period they have sought to be - and to help others to be - a person who does not suffer from ‘bitter’ thoughts, a person who has ‘wealth’ - ebaritas, who gains the knowledge - acoa, that allows them to move forward with positive ideas that will consolidate their relationships and achievements, who belongs to a ‘home’. This aspect of the post-war period is particularly shown in the case of young people who seek to achieve the status of youth. Being itunanak is a status constituted through local ideas of what should be achieved during this life cycle stage. For young people to feel that they really have ‘life’ they follow a trajectory in which they fulfil and reproduce the representations of what it is to be a youth. 365 What it is to be an effective person in Nyadar is an understanding that is culturally framed by a set of moral praxis. As the people of Nyadar seek in the post-war period to be effective people, to have ‘life’, they reproduce and affirm the cultural corpus that underlies this desire. Through their individual lives, they confirm and strengthen a ‘way of life’. Thus the ‘way of lifp’ in the post-war period evidences what James would call a ‘cultural archive’ a residual set of principles about what it is to be a person, a set of principles that provide the terms of reference for the rebuilding and reconstituting of a society after 9 time of upheaval and change. The Historicity of Cultural Praxis Where the case in Nyadar parts from the mocjel put forth by James, however, is the need to take into account that many of the cultural tenets of the recovery process are not as embedded as bodily experience and composition are for the Uduk, but have been introduced and created in the more recent past. This is clearly shown in the importance of Christian praxis as both a way of interpreting and assimilating the effects of the conflict apd as a practical resource for the material aspects of recovery. It is also the ease for the confidence people in Nyadar place in the power of money; its ro]e and value has been historically informed. Again agriculture based at the household level was influenced by the impact of cotton growing under colonialism The priority given to the home in processes of recovery is a priority not only influenced by the history of migration and cash cropping in Teso but by family histories of birth and death. The relationship of relatedness with the Karamojong, a relationship that the Iteso have relied upon for processes of reconciliation, is likewise historically informed. Historical process is fundamental to the conception that people in Nyadar have of ‘life’ aijar. For what they understand to be q good life and a life worth living takes concrete representation in the vision of the past, of life in the 1050s and 1960s. The prosperity and ‘life’ of these years forms a ubiquitous and emotive goal for what they seek to recover in the post-war period. Thus the ‘return to life’ of the post-war period is not only a return to tfie cultural resources and praxis of 366 daily life but also a return to a state that reflects a former era of prosperity. So, for example, in the case of cattle; when people in Nyadar regain cattle they can not only look to the future with the means for agricultural production and bridewealth exchange, but they also begin to recapture the past, a past which extolled and which they desire to emulate. In Nyadar, post-war recovery is a return to how life should be. This is an image that has been historically created and is referred to through acts of imagination and memory. When, early in my fieldwork, Lucy and I stood in the bushy overgrowth of what had been her home prior to the conflict, she pointed out the image of a home that she held in her mind’s eye, a home that she saw had been “strong and beautiful”. She thus illustrated the act of imagination that informs the recovery process. The ‘life’ that people in Nyadar feel that they want to recreate is a valued history, one that stresses their identity as ‘up to date people’. It is a ‘life’, a history, which they have had before, one they remember and seek to create again. The collective power of this memory is such that young people, those who do not have personal memory of what life was like in the 1950s and 1960s, are committed to this vision. Cultural Change It is, however, in the case of young people we can most clearly see that although they subscribe to this collective memory, and although much of what they do evidences the commitment tp pre-war cultural praxis and the consistency of moral tenets of what it is to be a person, cultural praxis does not determine their action nor does their action necessarily reproduce historical praxis. Nowhere is this more clearly shown in the disjunction between spiritual belief systems and the explanations proffered for the conflict and the spiritual therapies invoked. For the young people in post-war Nyadar have by necessity had to seek alternative routes to achieving ‘life’ for themselves. Though their desires may be culturally framed the means they have to fulfil those desired are radically altered by the loss and suffering of the war. It is in the negotiation of these losses that young people have engendered new trends in cultural praxis. In some cases this negotiation occurs 367 within established practice as in the monetarisation of bridewealth and agricultural work parties, in the wide commitment to religious conversion. In other cases there is more distinct disjunction and innovation; in the focus on the ekek familial group, the rise of female headed households, the decline of the role of the wider lineage, the importance placed on education as a way to secure a future, the reliance on food crops for a cash income and trade, the use of the new geo-social pattern of life in Nyadar with Oditel as a focus of trade, friendships with Karamojong. These changes are not without tension. Indeed much of the process of post-war recovery in Nyadar can be seen to be fraught with jealousy and critical comments over the directions of cultural life in the present. For whatever the cultural coherence and consistency expressed in much of the post-war praxis of daily life in Nyadar, post-war recovery is not a unidirectional process for all the people of the parish. Some are more successful, others less successful. Just because they hold cultural resources and principles in comrpon (as indeed they do for without this commonality no one in the parish would be able to achieve anything) does not mean that the people in Nyadar fully cooperate in or sanction each other’s progress. Even those who are successful often fall short of other people’s standards of how ‘life’ should be conducted, young women setting up successful female headed households for example incur tfye scorn of men for whom getting a wife is so intrinsically a part of their life cycl 9 and the ability to have ‘life’ in a post-war period. It is because of the innovation, change and tension in the post-war period that the models of cultural conservatism and consistency cannot fully do justice to the ethnography of post-war Nyadar. It was for this reason that I took the perspective advocated by Sahlins to look at cultural praxis in specific historical context recognising that values are revalued and dp not automatically translate into historical action in time. 368 A Return to Life This complexity means that the only really apt model to describe the post-war situation in Nyadar is again the one proffered by people themselves - that of ‘a return to life’. First, the understanding of ‘life’ is one that conveys a sense of cultural praxis; the mutual influence of the material and phenomenological aspects of a specific socio-cultural setting. The ‘return to life’ has been one where the mundane reality of normalcy contains both phenomenological and material healing which are mutually implicated. Take for example the concept of ‘wealth’ ebaritas. The recovery of wealth in the post-war period has involved the material reconstruction of homes, the acquisition of goods and livestock, the resumption of consumption, the return to ‘beautiful’ homes and people. But more than this, the recovery of wealth - ebaritas, is the recovery of an ability for personal effectiveness, for example the ability for young people to grow up and become independent in line with ideas as to what it is to be a person. It is also the recovery of a sense of identity, both regional and personal. In addition the recovery of ebaritas, ‘comforts life’, it is a therapeutic process. At the same time the understanding of ebaritas is informed by ideas of God - Edeke, and of blessings. Ebaritas, like other concepts in Iteso life such as, ‘wetness’, consumption, jealousy, words, and money spans the material and phenomenological. Second, what is stressed by people in Nyadar by using the term ‘a return to life’ is that the post-war period has allowed the return of conditions that allow them to be the people they would like to be, to be effective people, to have ‘life’. True many of them fail to fulfil this aspiration and the post-war period is full of disappointment and tension, but the return to life takes place in the context of having lived through years of suffering and loss - ichan, and a conflict in which the Iteso were the political losers. Compared to this people in Nyadar now have the relative freedom and wealth to live life on the terms that they consider appropriate. At the heart of the ‘return to life’ is the return to a personal ability and effectiveness. This process of becoming effective people in the world once more involves the reproduction of cultural principles of what it is to be a person 369 and how to live one’s life but these principles are not all determining. For in the post-war period people have had to find alternative routes to achieve long standing aims. There has been socio-cultural change and innovation. This too is an Iteso principle for their understanding of a ‘way of life’ pays tribute to historical change. For example the sense of Iteso identity expressed in the notion of ‘life’ is one that occurs on a personal level, on the level of the home and on a national level. Thus the act of consumption of imported goods after the conflict is a renewed act of personal effectiveness, it constitutes identity, may also contribute to the ‘beauty’ of the home but also represents a new state of consumer power on a national level, with the availability of both goods and money once more. Each and every act, which expresses a ‘return to life’ incorporates a personal history, the claim to a better future, and a national histpry, the claim to fulfil the tenets of Iteso identity as that is exemplified in the condition in Teso in the 1950s and 1960s. People in Nyadar are very conscious that their current praxis has historical referent. This is shown not only through the vision of the past to which they aspire but in the way they relate aspects of ‘life’ to historical conditions; witchcraft concerns are seen as happening in time and place; spirits are said to respond to events; people are known to respond to events on a sensory level; stories and knowledge both re-create and determine events; money is understood with historical reference. In the same way the ‘return to life’ of the present is seen to deal with but also be marked by the recent history and impact of the war. During my fieldwork the most common description people gave of their life in the present was that of ichan. They saw themselves as ‘people who have suffered’ - itunga lu ichan , that their ‘life’ in the present was still irredeemably marked by the conflict. The ‘return to life’ is not something that has happened but something they struggle to achieve in every aspect of their lives. Anthropological Models of Cultural Change How does this model of life in post-war Nyadar resound with anthropological models of culture and change after tumultuous events? As I have already 370 discussed there are signs of the cultural resilience and consistency that much other anthropological literature also attests to. In this thesis, however, I have sought to draw out the details of how this resilience occurs. I did this by separating out different aspects of what people in Nyadar considered life to be about; the home, young people, wealth, emotional well being and spiritual relationships. In each of these areas I have given attention to the particular resources that people have used to re-create a sense of normalcy after the war. The use of these resources has involved both continuity in cultural praxis and innovation. There is evidence in Nyadar of what Archer (1988) has proposed as a model for social life; the dialectic between culture and agency. The post-war society in Nyadar has been re-created by the actions of people wanting to achieve a sense of personal effectiveness and well being. Those actions are predicated upon a shared cultural heritage, or habitus, with their friends, relatives and neighbours and they in turn reproduce that culture. Crucially, however, neither are people determined by that heritage. In the aim of creating a life worth living they innovate and bring about change in cultural praxis. This is a model of change that can accommodate situations other than post-war societies. What is important about Nyadar is that the dialectic between culture and agency, in Iteso terms between achieving ‘life’ and a ‘way of life’, is one that has a history of suffering at the heart of social experience. This is the dimension that Davis (1992) has urged anthropologists to give more attention to. For it is only by putting suffering into the formula of culture and agency that we can acknowledge disruption and loss as well as social coping and creativity. Once again it is the Nyadar model of life - aijar, after loss - ichan, which gives the most effective framework for all these strands in the post war period. Young People It is in the lives of young people that we see these dynamics most clearly portrayed. Bom into and growing up under conditions of ichan , they never the less commit themselves to the ‘hard work’ of becoming itunanak in the post-war period. This cmcial stage in their life cycle coincides with the period of post-war 371 recovery. They thus bridge the past, present and future on a personal level and in a specific historical era. It is in the way they construct these bridges that we see them turn to resources of established socio-cultural praxis; it is they, for example, who continue traditional of story telling and plays, who perpetuate practices of bridewealth and who commit to representation? of ‘wealth’ and of what it is to be itunanak, of cosmological belief. They perpetuate them because this is what enables them to come to terms with all the icfian of the war and because this is what frames their motivation and desires for the future. Itunanak play a role in transmitting such spcio-cultural practice to the next generation. No where is this clearer than in the plays performed by Nyadar youth group. The audiences consisted overwhelmingly of young children who watched their seniors act out and laugh through depictions of war and death. Perhaps in these celebrations of cultural survival children in the audience are being taught that, should they too suffer such loss and despair, there will be the possibility for ‘life’ once more. Likewise young children experience the ‘sweetness’ of gifts made by older siblings in the name of affection and love, of material possessions, of words and money, of going to school. The work that young children do for the home is valued and encouraged. Through this the values of the society are passed on from itunanak to children and are thereby cpnserved. At the same time itunanak are central to the creation, innovation and change that mark the period of post-war recovery. It is itunanak who are taking hold of business opportunities, who are relying upon friendship over kinship as resources for recovery, who are undergoing Christian conversion, who are concentrating on the ekek family grouping. Discussing young people in South Africa, Reynolds (1995: 227) suggests that a time of conflict and suffering made young political activists assess their commitment to the attitudes and morals passed on them by their parents, often rejecting them to create new forms of political activism whilst still committed to the same struggle of opposition to apartheid In Nyadar the commitment to cultural change by young people is less conscious, none the less young people are 372 similarly involved in the simultaneous conservation of cultural ideals and innovation in socio-cultural means. As Reynolds suggests, it is in the forging of individual identity, framed by wider understandings of identity that the process of socio-cultural innovation and conservation is worked out. The lives of itunanak in Nyadar who fought as UPA child-combatants gives particular illustration to these dynamics. Young combatants were often motivated to go to the bush by the loss of cattle, a loss which threatened the identity they aspired to both as young men hoping to marry and set up a home of their own and as Itesot men whose personal and regional wealth was expressed in cattle. In the bush they experienced new patterns of social life, a solidarity and identity based on access to arms and fighting. On returning home they face the ambiguity accorded to them by the civilian population who both value and understand their role as ‘Teso boys’ but who experienced and condemn the devastation caused by the UPA rebellion. Many such ex-combatants have reconciled this ambiguity through Christian conversion and re-definition of their war experiences. In their lives we see both the perpetuation, negotiation and innovation of cultural values, expressed in the formation of their identities, in line with wider historical circumstances of change. Young people in Nyadar are historically placed. It is the mutual influence of their place both in historical events and in socio-cultural practice that contributes to the character of the post-war period. Implications for the Literature In the Introduction I drew attention to four sets of literature, the direction and critiques of which paved the way for the attention that I have given to question of cultural continuity and change in Nyadar. The ‘return to life’ that I have ethnographically depicted in the thesis has implications for them all. First, it shows the inadequacy of a purely political model for understanding the complexities of the post-conflict situation in Teso. For people in Nyadar, politics was not what defined the process of recovery. Politics is obviously implicated in much of what they do; in the peace that allowed them to return home, in the 373 access to national trade networks. But in their terms theirs is not foremost a political peace, it is instead a peace of well being, of emotional, material and spiritual ‘life’. A purely political analysis of this post-conflict situation would ignore that people in Nyadar engaged with the violence through a specific social and cultural world. Indeed much of the literature is moving to recognise that, as in Nyadar, the ramifications of the ichan of the war were are by civilians, adults, children and combatants alike in the terms of their local culture. Internal civil wars, which mark so much of the contemporary world’s conflict, are characterised by civilians becoming drawn into bloody and all encompassing violence. Yet the majority of the literature takes an apocalyptic view of this violence; seeing that by turning civilian communities into battle ground there is danger of the destruction of sets of local moral ethics, of trusting relationships, of cultural coherence. The evidence from Nyadar shows that in one such case there was indeed subsequent cultural change after the impact of the war but that occurred as part of cultural resilience, resurgence and resourcefulness, as part of a ‘return to life’. Second, I noticed that currently much of the work on the effects of political violence is being done with recourse to psychological theories of individual trauma and distress, in particular that of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). People in Nyadar did indeed experience ^motional suffering and difficult memories as a result of all they experienced during the war. They understand and deal with these emotional processes, however, through a local framework of well being which is informed by cultural praxis and ideas of the constitution of the person and of the place of memory. In addition emotional suffering and healing were processes that combined the phenomenolpgical with the material. Ichan and ‘comfort’ - itelakarit aijar, are words with both a material and an emotional referent. They point to the fact that, first, the losses of the war were both symbolic and material. Second, the processes of emotional recovery may be located in everyday praxis, for the mundane materiality of life also contains the phenomenological and the meaningful. Third, that emotional healing is predicated upon the combination of social relationships and material improvement with strategies such as joking and story telling directed more specifically at emotional health. It is for these reasons that a framework pf PTSD is inadequate to do justice 374 to the processes of emotional healing in Nyadar. Instead the case from Nyadar advocates a perspective that combines anthropological with psychological approaches to better understand people’s experience (White & Lutz 1992: 1) and the cross cultural constitution of the person. It is only then that there can be full awareness of the nature of cultural capital used by people in processes of post-war recovery; processes emotional and material such as the ‘return to life’ in Nyadar. Third, there is increasing impetus from international aid organisations to give credit to people’s social and cultural capital as resources in development processes. There has been much in the thesis that touches upon issues of welfare policy and practice in conflict situations. NGDOs and government bodies seeking to contribute to post-war recovery are involved in interventions to promote economic reconstruction and psychological recoveiy, to deal with the impact of conflict upon young people, with the rehabilitation of young combatants and to bring about reconciliation (e.g. Eade & Williams 1997). There has been widespread critique of much of the intervention to date and suggestions that intervention has often done more harm than good (Cushing 1995, Duffield 1993, Slim 1997, Abdel Ati 1993, Keen 1994). From this has come concern for “smart aid”, intervention which is built upon knowledge of local situations and cultural dynamics and which utilises indigenous, grass roots, resources of social capital (Richards 1996: xxviii). In other words intervention, which is built upon the understanding that anthropologists build up of societies. For example in the case of seeking to promote economic reconstruction there is a place for understanding the socio-cultural values inherent in economic transactions, values which effect economic motivations and strategies (c.f. Crewe & Harrison 1998: 36). Throughout the thesis I have detailed the local strategies of post-war recovery by people in Nyadar. Increasingly it is such strategies that NGDOs seek to promote. The question of how they might do this and the management issues involved in “smart aid” is a large one that needs further attention. A place to start however is in the acceptance that cultural resources for post-war recovery lie in the reality of people’s lives. Often these do not correspond to the idealised concepts used in the NGO development discourse. For example NGDOs who seek grass roots 375 development or “smart aid” often advocate the use of “community based action” without discussion of the fact that ‘communities’ are often marked by tensions and conflicts of interest (Guijt and Shah 1998, Pratt and Loizos 1992: 37). In Nyadar, for example, when people use cultural resources for healing aomisio, ‘too much thinking’, they rely upon their friends and allies, they do not rely upon the entirety of the ‘community’ amongst whom thpre are those who caused them the initial distress. The ‘return to life’ of post-war recovery in Nyadar has not been an unproblematic unilinear one of success. Throughout the thesis I have indicated the ways in which the impact of the conflict and the very processes of recovery, engender tensions and difficulties. This is evident in the ongoing suffering brought by the Aids epidemic, the jealousies arising between those rebuilding their homes in the same parish, jealousy that leads to witchcraft accusations, in the inability to deal with those who suffer from ‘madness’ - amunare acou. It is shown in the tensions over the changing role of women, the political grievances over being marginalized from the centre of power in Uganda, the difficulties faced by orphaned children and the ongoing disappointments and frustratipns for young people growing up in an impoverished society. There are ambiguities in the processes of reconciliation both with former combatants and with Karamojong. In addition there are situations beyond the control of those in Nyadar; the Karamojong have not been disarmed and continue to raid. In other words, though people in Nyadar have achieved a ‘return to life’, they have not reconstructed a flawless society, to do so would be anathema to their understanding of ‘life’ itself. The NGDO development discourse can benefit from knowledge of the “darker side of traditional communities” (Guijt and Shah 1998: 8) in the search for ‘social capital’. Nor have people in Nyadar achieved control over the many externalities that threaten their achievements; their own strategies do nqt provide all the answers for their development problems. Much is being asked pf cultural resources and praxis by international development agencies. Whilst the case from Nyadar would confirm that these resources exist and create robust post-war outcomes, they cannot be over idealised or simplified 376 Finally, the case of Nyadar has implications for the anthropological literature on war and violence. Warfare in the modem world is more than ever a civilian encounter, the proliference of internal civil wars and the way these are commonly fought with accessible firearms has brought war more and more to civilian battlegrounds. Whilst more and more accounts are being given of the civilian engagement with violence thrpugh a specific socio-cultural world, there is still lag in the anthropology of violence, which persists in seeing it in structural terms, with violence contributing to the ongoing regulation of pre-established social life (Allen 1999). What the ethnography from Nyadar has shown is that it is historical suffering, loss and turbulent change, which are central to the dynamics of cultural praxis, both to their perpetuation and change. In the post-war period everything that people in Nyadar do has reference to the ichan of the conflict, their praxis and identity is re-created in the light of this ichan and of what it took form them. Theirs is a ‘way of life’, which has suffering and resilience at its heart. This thesis is a tribute to the resilience, humour and fortitude of people who have undergone and continue to experience the most severe suffering. It advocates understanding that suffering through their own experience, narratives and models of change. It is likely that more and more the contexts where anthropologists work will be marked by political conflict and will have to develop such sympathises to people’s own experience and understanding of suffering. Postscript Since submitting this thesis the situation in Nyadar has deteriorated once more. In March 2000, Karamojong cattle raiding re-surfaced in a more intense and devastating form than in the past few years. One particular Karamojong war-lord has mobilised a large force and has led concentrated raiding into the Katakwi district of Teso. In response Museveni has armed the Iteso, urging them to defend themselves. It provides an interesting contrast to the case in 1986 when Museveni disarmed the Iteso and in response to the intensified raiding, the UPA went to the bush. Letters I have had froip Nyadar describe a low intensity but incapacitating level of conflict as local Iteso defence forces, so called Anti Stock Theft Units (ASTUs) wage battles againsj Karamojong wherever they can find then. Many of 379 the young men whose voices are in this thesis are now members of ASTUs groups, sleeping in the bush, aiming to defend their homes and families from further raiding. Most of Katakwi is deserted with people having fled to former camps and trading centres for protection. Oditel is swamped with people sleeping in the churches and schools. Medicine Sans Frontier has set up a feeding programme in Oditel. A few weeks ago they c^me across a refugee camp of 5000 people in the bush on the edge of Nyadar parish. 15 children had already died in the camp when MSF found it - as the result of a measles outbreak. People are unable to start the cultivation usual to this time of year and contemplating a full year of famine. Lucy, William and their children are presently taking refuge in the Catholic Mission. The speak of moving to Soroti for none of the schools are working in Katakwi since all the teachers have run away and they don’t want their children’s education to be unduly disrupted. All their goats and sheep have been stolen but fortunately they managed to get tfyeir cattle down to safety in south Teso in time. Evidently the peace of which I speak in the thesis is just one period of the ongoing history of Nyadar, one that has, very sadly, now turned again to conflict and bloodshed. The ‘life’, which people in Nyadar managed to re-create for themselves for a time, did not involve any guarantee of political security. It was a ‘life’ that depended upon political peace but obviously lacked a level of political engagement that might have sustained political peace. People in Nyadar, might have for a time been able to recover ‘life’ on thpir own terms but the sustainability of that life is not inviolable from broader political circumstances, for example those that constitute the relations with the Karamojong. Despite all their endeavours the people in Nyadar face the circumstances of ichan once more, while aijar, ‘life’, becomes a memory. It confirms that it will be the weave of loss into life and life into loss that cpnstitutes the ongoing character of cultural praxis in Nyadar. From afar I hold onto the thought that people who have created life out of loss once before can do so again, I only hope that this might be a certainty that can sustain people in Nyadar too as they face all the ichan and destruction of the moment. 378 Plate 14: POST-WAR RECOVERY FROM THE MATERIAL TO THE COSMOLOGICAL Women sell excess food-stuffs in Oditel market amurorftrom NyaoareonaucTs a consultationwitnne^pTnts 3?1 380 Appendix One HISTORIES HISTORY OF TESO In Teso the tradition of origin, Amootoi ka Etesot (1946) tells of the ancestors of the Iteso coming from Ethiopia and their travels taking on six ages or generations. The first generation was known as Ojurata’s tadpoles, they were men of short stature and large heads who lived among swamps and on lakesides. They were followed by Okori’s generation who were the first men to till the ground and grow crops. The third generation were Oyangaese’s people who began to keep livestock. This was the time of settlement in the region of present day Karamoja. In the fourth generation, Otikiri’s, people learnt crafts such as tanning and the making of musical instruments. The fifth generation, Arionga’s, are those who made the migration south from Karamoja. The sixth generation, Iworopom or Iteso, are the descendants of the Arionga generation who have settled in the lands south of Karamoja, in opposition to the peoples of Karamoja, and who practice agriculture. The age of the fifth generation, Arionga’s, starts historically in the late Cl7th. At this time groups of people began to move out of Karamoja as part of the series of continuous colonisation of new southern land that had carried on ever since the move from Ethiopia (Ocan 1994: 106, Webster 1979: 19). Those who moved at this time and settled further south were the founders of the sixth Iworopom generation. The split was concluded in the early Cl9th.1 Oral history collected from the Karamojong indicates that at this time, around 1830, the Karamojong rose up in arms against those who were related to the Iworopom and who remained in Karamoja. They were driven into the south (Turpin 1916). 381 Members of the Iworopom generation are said to have traded with southern groups to acquire iron hoes and shifted to settled agriculture. However the pattern of migration, colonisation of new land and re-settlement continued. Lawrence (1957: 12) has called these moves the ‘second migration’. The ‘second migration’ started in the Cl8th as migratory groups were still arriving from Karamoja and continued into the C20th. By 1910 the majority of the area south of Karamoja up to the natural boundaries formed by Lake Kyoga and the presence of other peoples east of Mount Elgon was occupied. Through such colonisation members of the Iworopom generation came into contact with new neighbours such as the Kumam and Lango to the west and the Sebei and Bagisu to the east. Trade exchanges were established with these groups. People in Teso today say that it was these groups who designated the name ‘Iteso’ to denote the direct descendants of the Iworopom generation as a distinct people. The final stage of the ‘second migration’ occurred in 1930 when pressure on land drew peoples back north into the areas adjacent to Karamoja and further south into the present day district of Pallisa. It is commonly held that the three most influential social groupings amongst the Iteso during this period were the ‘clan/lineage’ - ateker, the ‘locality’ - etem, and the ‘age set’ - aturi (Wright 1942: 65, Lawrence 1957: 52, Karp 1978: 20). Clans - ateker, amongst the Iteso were exogamous with clan taboos associated with eating and childbirth (Lukyn 1936). Members of a clan who shared a common name lived in patrilocal family groups - ikelia (single: ekel), close by to members of their patrilineal lineage - ateker. Clan membership was the primary unit of conflict resolution; each clan had a group - ekeratan, who would be mobilised to mediate in disputes with other clans (Webster et al 1973: 129). Lineage membership was, as is the case today, the primary mode of organization of access to land with a father’s land being divided by patrilineal inheritance amongst his sons and, in turn, to their sons. However herds were, as today, ‘family herds’ owned in the name of a family - ekel, head. The importance of the clan or lineage - ateker, in social organisation was cross cut by the strong organisational influence of the locality - etem. Men of differing 382 clans living in one particular etem would meet to organise collective hunting, warfare and the initiation of young men into age sets. The etem community had a recognised leader - apolon ka etem, who was chosen from amongst the clan heads in the area (Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 23, Karp 1978: 20). Social organisation throughout Teso was therefore segmentary; conducted through principles of locality, clan and lineage rather than chieftainship. Karugire (1980: 117) has described the C19th history of Teso as a history in which etem groups were continually mobilised by their leaders in hunting, raiding and the ritual activities of rainmaking and initiation. There was a ritual and spiritual leader - amuron , in each etem. Etem also formed military confederacies - ebuku , led by a military leader - lokajoore. There appears to have been wide scale fighting between different confederacies throughout the Cl9th especially amongst the 4Usuk Teso’ in the north of the district who mobilised raiding parties against each other and in defense to Karamojong raiding. Such activity institutionalized the role of military leaders over and above the role of clan leaders (Webster et al. 1973: 114, Vincent 1982: 90). The pattern of migration further promoted the importance of etem along side ateker. New settlements were orchestrated by groups of young men, members from the same etem and age group. The migrating group could consist, therefore, of young members of the same lineage and equally, of members of different lineages, different clans but the same etem. The young men moved with their families and family herds leaving behind members of their etem and ateker. On settlement the group formed a new etem consisting of ikelia, families, who might or might not be of the same lineage. Emudong (1974: 12) suggests that many of the ‘clan’ names held by the present day population of Teso are more likely to be the names of etem formed in the past after a wave of settlement in a new area. This would explain the plethora of clan names in Teso. The pattern of migration also explains why the same clan name is found in numerous locations over Teso held by members of a shallow lineage (Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 20).4 383 The history of colonialism and missionary influence in Teso did much to change the influence of the groups of ateker, etem and aturi in Iteso social life. The word etem was adopted by the colonial administration to denote a geographical unit under the jurisdiction of an administrative chief; members of a locality no longer had autonomy in decisions of military, ritual or hunting action. So that whilst rainmaking rituals organised through the etem continued into the 1950s, permission had to be sought from administrative chiefs (Wright 1946, Ludger 1954). The ritual initiation into age sets declined rapidly around the 1900s and lost any importance in a politico-military capacity (Nagashima 1998: 227).5 However there are some important principles of Iteso social life which are grounded in the pre-colonial history which still influence socio-cultural values and patterns in the present. First is the continual fragmentation of social groupings, of etem and ateker, caused by the migrations. This would explain the high value placed in the present on independent families, ikelia, within a shallow lineage or locality due to the historical impermanence and transitory nature of both the wider clan and territorial affiliation (Karp 1978: 16, Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 19). The continual fragmentation of ateker, mitigated against the solidarity created by reference to a common ancestor or to a common pool of property (as discussed in Chapter Three). Whilst migrations might be carried out by members of the same etem or ateker, the establishment of families was an equally important dynamic within the moves. For as many families who migrated within a group from their original etem, there were those who migrated on their own decision (Nagashima 1998: 244). Second, the fact that the moves were made by young men, links to a present day recognition of youth and individual initiative as an important dynamic of social change and Iteso history. Iteso recount the history of settlement and migration precisely to stress this value. In this way the initiatives of the young are valued as a source of progress and development. 384 Colonial History By the middle of the Cl 9th Iteso had settled land up to the borders of Lake Kyoga in the west. The segmentary pattern of settlement characterised by a collection of dispersed homesteads loosely united by either ateker or etem solidarity and the practice of combined agricultural cultivation and cattle pastoralism, was established. Contact between the Iteso and the Buganda came in the form of trade across Lake Kyoga and from the persistence of trading links that had been established along the three previous ivory and slave trade routes that cut through Teso linking Ethiopia to the East African coast (Vincent 1982: 71). At this time the Buganda referred to the present day Teso region as ‘the East’ - ‘ Bukeddi ’. However closer ties and alliances than those formed between Iteso and the Buganda had been formed between military leaders from ebuku in the west of Teso and Bunyoro lords. It is well documented that the first white explorers into the lands of present day Uganda were impressed by the form of social organisation and kingship they found amongst the Buganda (Parkenham 1991: 297, see below). Between 1862 and 1890 close links were formed between British representatives and the court of the king, Kabaka, of the Buganda. Relations later became acrimonious resulting in the declaration of the British Protectorate of Uganda in 1894 and the deportation of the Kabaka in 1897. However, in dealing with the peoples of neighbouring groups, precedent was given by the British officers to a strategy of expanding Bugandan leadership over other regions. The initial area to be annexed by Buganda was Bunyoro, their historical enemy. The British particularly backed this move after the 1886 murder in Bunyoro of the British missionary Bishop Hannington. Due to alliance between the Bunyoro and ebuku of Teso, the founding of Bugandan rule over Bunyoro then turned east to Bukeddi. The Bugandan general Semei Kakunguru led the campaign of expansion into Bukeddi from 1896 onwards. Kakunguru had led the campaign against Bunyoro and was supplied with guns by the Protectorate administration. Kakunguru’s army met with little resistance amongst the Southern Teso where he built forts and 385 appointed Bugandan administrators. The Bugandan army were quick to punish those found in traditional rituals of age set initiation and rain making and it is thought that at this time that such practices went into rapid decline (Lawrence 1955: 38). The campaign in the north was more turbulent and it took until 1911 for the last military confederacies of the ‘Usuk Teso’ to capitulate. By 1904 however the British had disposed of Kakunguru suspecting him of wanting to establish his own independent kingdom in the east (Twaddle 1993: 151). The British took over Kakunguru’s administrative machinery and retained the appointment of Bugandan chiefs but alongside a British District Commissioner who, in 1906, founded an administrative headquarters at Kumi. The system which was by then formalised in other areas under Bugandan influence was introduced into Teso. The area was divided into five counties - saza, with Mugandan chiefs, and these into sub counties - gombolas , parishes - etem, and villages - mitakas. Between 1909 and 1919 as the rest of Teso was pacified, Mugandan chiefs were replaced with Itesot leaders and thus the system of local administrative chieftianship institutionalized. Initially those Iteso chosen to be chiefs were popular local leaders, often previous leaders of military confederacies and etem elders (Vincent 1982: 140). In 1912 chiefs from all over the region were called together to Kumi. The borders of the region were ratified marking formal integration into the British Protectorate of Uganda. It is at this time that the name ‘Teso’ was agreed upon as the name of the district.6 After fifteen years of colonisation the segmentary organisation of Iteso social life had been transformed into a district wide administration with institutionalized chiefs. Business, education and cotton cash cropping were rapidly introduced (as discussed in Chapter Two). The raid growth of a district- wide political consciousness of identity in Teso was articulated in the rebellion of chiefs against the colonial administration in 1924. This movement, consisting of Itesot chiefs throughout the district and led by the famously strident county chiefs of the north, Epaku and Opit, asked for the dismissal of Captain Philips, the District Commissioner of the time. The complaint of the chiefs against Philips n was his support of the sale of local beer - ajon, in the market places by women. 386 The rebellion of the chiefs was quashed through the dismissal of many of the leaders. Young Iteso who had, by this time, come through the system of education replaced them. Thus the principle of leadership based on education and ability within the frame of colonial advancement rather than on traditional authority was initiated in tandem with a growing unity amongst the peoples of Teso. POLITICAL HISTORY OF UGANDA 1862-1986 The first colonial explorers arrived in Uganda in 1862 and made initial contact with the Buganda people. The explorers are said to have been impressed by the sophisticated social organisation they found amongst the Buganda who had a hereditary king (called the Kabaka) and structure of chiefs throughout the kingdom. Between 1862 and 1912 British administrators supported the Bugandan king and army with arms and thus enabled Bugandan expansion over neighbouring lands of other Bantu groups and over Sudanic, Luo and Paranilotic groups. In 1919 the British ratified the boundaries of the land that the Buganda had conquered and named it Uganda. The country was declared a British ‘protectorate’ rather than ‘colony’ thus acknowledging the administrative and ruling role of the Buganda and the authority of the Kabaka, though in subsequent years the British gradually replaced Bugandan chiefs and agents with British staff and with agents from local ethnic groups. Colonial educational and economic investment was largely directed towards the Buganda and other Bantu groups who were seen as a ‘civilised’ people. Those from the northern Luo, Sudanic and Paranilotic groups were in contrast seen as less ‘civilised’ and many were recruited into the Ugandan army and police force including Idi Amin from the Madi (Sudanic) people. During the 1950s many Uganda political parties formed and reformed anticipating independence. By the early 1960s, on the eve of independence, those in contention to lead the new government were The Democratic Party (DP) consisting mainly of Roman Catholic members from all over Uganda, The Uganda People’s Congress (UPC) led by Milton Obote consisting mainly of 387 Protestants, with wide support from northerners and the Kabaka Yekka (KY). The members of KY were almost entirely Bugandan. The British granted independence to Uganda in 1961 with a constitution that gave federal status and a separate parliament to the kingdom of Buganda within Uganda. Elections were held in 1962 and a coalition of the UPC and KY was installed with Milton Obote as President. 1962 -1971 The KY-UPC alliance was strained from the beginning. By 1965 the Kabaka and parliament of Buganda were deeply antagonistic to Obote which served to further undermine the alliance. In 1966 members of KY announced their discovery of corruption amongst the leaders of the UPC including Obote and the deputy commander of the Ugandan army, Idi Amin. In turn Obote accused the KY, Buganda parliament and the Kabaka of planning a coup. Obote called the National Assembly to discuss the matter and ended by suspending the constitution of 1961. In its place he presented a constitution through which he became executive president of Uganda and the federal status of Buganda was removed. The Bugandan parliament refused the new constitution and demanded the total independence of Buganda. Obote sent in troops to the Kabaka’s palace and the king fled in exile to England. In 1967 Obote put a new constitution in place which abolished any kingdoms in Uganda. In 1969 Obote banned opposition parties and claimed Uganda as a one party state. Obote began to investigate the allegations of corruption against Idi Amin. However Amin had considerable support amongst sections of the army especially from other Madi in the forces. In January 1971, whilst Obote was abroad, Amin effected a military coup and took power. Obote went into exile in Tanzania. 388 1971 -1980 Amin’s regime was marked by two major strategies. First the violent purge of all political opponents especially Luo (Acholi and Langi) supporters of Obote in the army. This was aggravated both by a failed invasion by Obote with Tanzanian forces in 1972 and by Amin’s humiliation over the ‘raid at Entebbe’ in 1975 in which Israeli troops stormed an aircraft where Israeli hostages were held captive by Palestinian hijackers. In response to both occasions Amin ordered the death of thousands of Luo speakers. Second was the ‘economic war’ Amin declared against Asians which culminated in the forced expulsion of all Asians from Uganda in 1974 and the redistribution of wealth into the hands of Amin and his close political followers. Amin was a professing Muslim and drew large financial and military support from Libya and Saudi Arabia. He grew increasingly antagonistic to the Christian church in Uganda who condemned both his violence and his Islamisation of the country. In 1977 the Protestant Archbishop Jani Luwum was found killed in suspicious circumstances and his death widely believed to have been ordered by Amin. There followed widespread persecution of Christians in Uganda. Amin’s ‘State Research Bureau’ became infamous as a place of disappearance and torture. By 1978 Amin was held by Amnesty International to be responsible for the death of 300 000 people. In October 1978 Amin ordered his troops to invade Tanzania, accusing the Tanzanian government of supporting the exiled supporters of Obote and of harbouring a govemment-in-exile. The Tanzanian army was mobilised against the invasion and was joined by Ugandan forces in exile. Together they formed the UNLA, Uganda National Liberation Army, and rebuffed Amin’s invading troops back to the border and into Uganda. The UNLA took the capital Kampala in April 1979. Amin fled in exile to Saudi Arabia and many of his troops entered Sudan. The political wing of the UNLA, the Uganda National Liberation Front (UNLF) established an interim government with Yusuf Lule as head of state. He a 389 ‘northerner’, however, antagonised and demoted several ‘southern’ members of the cabinet including Youweri Museveni, a Banyankore (Bantu) who had been a military commander of the UNLA. On demotion Museveni left the government and sought independent control of the army. Tensions between the UNLF and the UNLA escalated with a vote of no confidence placed both in Lule and his successor Binaisa by the military. A general election was called for 1980. 1980 -1986 Four parties fought the election of 1980; the UPC led by Milton Obote, the DP, the Uganda Patriotic Movement (UPM) led by Youweri Museveni and the Conservative Party. The UPC came to power although the election was widely thought to be rigged. Obote sought to consolidate relations with the army and placed fellow Langi and Acholi in positions of military influence and together they organised a violent purge of political opponents. However the unity did not last and the army was split into Acholi vs. Langi factions. In 1985 the Acholi faction of the army led by Bazilio Okello marched on Kampala and seized power from Obote, installing Okello as president. Starting in 1981, Youweri Museveni had launched a guerrilla army of opposition to Obote called the National Resistance Army (NRA). The NRA fought against Obote’s troops in the south and west of Uganda. In return Obote had ordered widescale massacres of the civilian population in these area with the charge that they were supporting the NRA. The worst of these massacres took place in the area known as the ‘Luwero Triangle’ and served to raised support amongst the people in favour of Museveni and against Obote. When Okello came to power in 1985 he saw the NRA as the major threat to his government and tried to negotiate. By this time Museveni however was in control of most of the south and west of Uganda and reached Kampala early in 1986. Okello fled and Museveni inaugurated the National Resistance Movement Government (NRM) which remains in power in Uganda today with Museveni as head of state. 390 1986 - present Since the NRA had been in control of much of the south for many years, peace and reconstruction came quickly to these areas. In contrast, in the north, many former military leaders from the armies of Amin, Obote and Okello started to reform guerrilla armies of opposition to Museveni. The largest of these were, firstly, the ‘Holy Spirit Movement’ led by a prophetess called Alive Lakwena. She drew support from Islamic Madi people and from the Islamic government of Sudan. Secondly the Uganda People’s Army (UPA). In response Museveni sent NRA soldiers throughout these northern areas and collected civilians off their lands forcing them into settlement camps and introduced a ‘scorched earth’ policy thus trying to undermine local support for the insurgents. It is such tactics that has led Amnesty International to accuse Museveni of serious human rights abuses; there was widespread rape of women in the camps. In the worst reported case some 270 people from one camp were locked into railway carriages and suffocated to death. By 1992 both the UP A and the Holy Spirit Movement were defeated and the civilian population allowed to return to their homelands. However former supporters of Alice Lakwena regrouped under the banner of her nephew, Joseph Kony in the ‘Lord’s Resistance Army’ (LRA). The LRA continues to hold large areas of the north of Uganda and to fight for national power. The LRA is notorious for abducting young recruits, both boys and girls, and forcing them to take part in atrocities against their own peoples. More recently, in 1997, there has been a small-scale invasion of Uganda on the western border by a rebel group from former Zaire. Apart from such fighting the NRM government has been widely hailed as a success both in Uganda and beyond. Museveni has introduced a new political system called the ‘Movement System’ based on principles of a one party democracy. These principles were enshrined in the new constitution of Uganda that was adopted in 1995. Presidential elections were held in 1996 with Museveni 391 returned to power. In the same year Museveni re-instated the Kabaka of Buganda as a cultural leader for his people after thirty years in exile. Museveni is also credited with economic success especially for the south of the country. He has invited Asian to come back and to re-claim their property in the hope of drawing back investment. Museveni is much courted by the West and in 1997 Uganda was the first country to receive substantial debt repayment. On the back of this Museveni has introduced free primary education for all children in Uganda. However much of Museveni’s governance remain controversial especially for those in the north of the country who had not received the same degree of economic reconstruction as those in the south and where education and transport still remains handicapped by the ongoing fighting. HISTORY OF NYADAR The first man said to have settled on the land of the present day parish of Nyadar was called Jokanna Okiror. He arrived in October 1937 with his four wives, eight young children and herd of 39 cattle following a 40 km treck from Amuria. He was soon joined by his two brothers and their families. Jokanna, who was still alive at the time of fieldwork, tells of a meeting held under a mango tree in which he and his brothers decided on the boundaries of their lineage and individual land. They planted sisal plants to mark this. They were soon joined by men from other lineage and areas, who together formed the first etem in Nyadar. Large tracts of land were claimed and apportioned. The members of one lineage might together Q have access to up to 600 acres of land. Those who settled on new land carried on the kinship and economic practices of the Iteso which continue today. Households were widely dispersed and individuated, in the main consisting of a single conjugal unit. A man in a polygamous marriage would establish a separate household for each wife and her children between which he circulated. Cattle were owned by individual men but might be herded and kept in a kraal together with those of other members of his 392 lineage. Staple crops of cassava, finger millet, potatoes and sorghum. The main cash crop at this time was cotton. An administrative infrastructure was quickly put in place after the first migrations into the area. The first Primary school in the area was the Protestant founded Nyadar Primary School opened in 1939. Two bore holes were dug in Nyadar in 1941. In 1948 a road was built connecting Soroti to Kapelebyong passing through Nyadar. In the same year a County headquarters was completed at the end of the road in Kapelebyong and an Itesot county chief installed. The Catholic Church opened in Nyadar in 1949. The trading centre, Oditel, began to develop in Nyadar at this time.9The first iron roofed house was built there in 1949. By 1951 there were twelve. Oditel increasingly became a centre of residence for teachers and administrative officials, they rented out houses but often built their own later and settled in the area . In 1950 the market in Oditel was officially registered. Two store houses for cotton were built and Asian traders visited Oditel every week to buy cotton or crops and to sell goods. A cattle market was opened in 1952 and in 1958 a man from Buganda set up a grinding machine to process crops. There were daily buses between Kapelebyong and Soroti. The general prosperity that marked Teso in the 1950s and 1960s was evidenced in Nyadar in the increasingly large herds of cattle held by some men. There were amongst some of the largest in Teso given that the area of the north was suited better to cattle keeping rather than agriculture. The largest herd of cattle numbered 272 owned by a man who traded in cattle and was also a parish chief. The population of Nyadar continued to swell with further immigrants, often those who were posted to the area and chose to settle there. In the 1960s there was an influx into Nyadar of wealthy families from Ngora in south Teso. There has been a history of tension between the earlier and these later settlers of Nyadar. Those from Ngora are referred to contemptuously as Ngoratuk , ‘People from Ngora’. The majority of those from Ngora were Protestant and collectively built the 393 Protestant Church and school in Oditel in 1967, whereas many of the original settlers had been Catholic.10 394 1 Webster et al (1973) have given significant historical detail of the migrations of the Iworopom generation and refer to them as ‘The Time of the Asonya’. However other scholars of the Iteso suggest that the data given by Webster et al is largely speculative and erroneous (Anthony & Uchendu 1975: 4). 2 As discussed in Chapter Two, there is some conceptual difficulty from the fact that both clan and lineage are given the same name, ateker. Here it will be indicated whether the meaning of ateker is as ‘clan’ or ‘lineage’. Later it will be shown that, due to the history of migration, the abiding influence of ateker in Iteso social organisation is as of shallow lineages rather than as of clan. 3 Kinship terminology for the Iteso is given in Appendix 2. 4In addition the history of migration in Teso accounts for the linguistic and cultural variety between the ‘Usuk Teso’ of the north east of the region and the ‘Southern Teso’. The ‘Usuk Teso’ are closer to the Karamojong in dialect and culture and are thought to be more direct descendants of the Arionga generation who first made the move from Karamoja. The ‘southern Teso’ are said to be descendants of the Iworopom generation who spread out throughout the area. The two groups had different practices of age set. The Usuk Teso practiced the asapan initiation system whereas the Southern Teso practiced the eigworone system. Rituals from the eigworone system were last practiced at the turn of the century whilst asapan rituals have been longer surviving and are known to have been practiced in secret until the 1960s (Nagashima 1998). The colonial administration acted harshly against any practice of such age set ceremonies (Gulliver 1953: 25). It should be noted that Lawrence who is the author of the most comprehensive ethnography of the Teso published in 1957 on data collected from his time as District Commissioner of Teso took ethnographic data mainly from the ‘Usuk Teso’. The population of Nyadar are ‘Southern Teso’ having migrated into the area from more southern parts of Teso as late as 1930. Karp is the major ethnographer of the Iteso of Kenya who live in the western Nyanza province. His definition of the boundaries of the ‘southern/northern’ Iteso differs from other writers. He (1978: 9) calls the Iteso living in Busia and Bukeddi, Uganda and Nyanza, Kenya the ‘southern Iteso’ and the Iteso living in Teso the ‘northern Teso.’ This usage would define the people of Nyadar as ‘northern Teso.’ For purposes of this thesis I use the definition given by Lawrence, counting the people of Nyadar as ‘southern Teso’ thus recognising their linguistic and cultural difference from the Usuk Teso. Nagashima (1998: 227) points out that this decline marks out Iteso history as substantially different from other groups of the Nilo Hamitic cluster where age sets still hold political influence. 6 These borders included members of Luo speaking Kumam who had moved into the west of the Teso area in the Cl 7th (Herring 1979: 292). Today Kumam form a large proportion of the population of the present day Soroti district. Although this thesis is focused up the Iteso, much of what happened in the conflict was experienced by Kumam as well. 7Captain Philips was convinced that allowing beer to be sold in the market place would facilitate the “bringing of the secrets of this society into the open”: Advisory Committee for the Development o f the Native Administration 1924. 8Those who were amongst the initial settlers of Nyadar tell of how they met there a strange people who were very short and did not wear clothes. They traded for skins from these people exchanging them for iron hoes. Jokanna and his contemporaries believe that these people, who are now thought to live on the mountains in Karamoja, were direct descendants of the first generation of Iteso migration who had not developed over the centuries. 9There are many stories told about the origin of the name Oditel. In one Oditel comes from the word oditelel, ‘the shaking of buttocks’, a word used to describe the dance often performed at beer drinking parties for which Oditel trading centre was renowned. Another states that Oditel stems from the English word ‘detail’. Many of the early occupants Nyadar had been soldiers in WW2, an employment which furnished them with the financial resources to accomplish the move north and to build houses in the trading centre. Oditel refers to the ‘detail’ of soldiers found drinking in the centre. 10These divisions and tensions were compounded in the war when a local Protestant UPA leader specifically led attacks against Catholic families. 395 3% Appendix Two KINSHIP TERMINOLOGY OF THE ITESO Figure A2.1 Consanguinal Kin O 1 = A2 O3 = A4 05 = A6 07 = A8 A9 = O10 Oh = A12 o 13 = a 14 A 15 O 16 A17 O 18 A19 A O20 A21 O22 A23 O24 r l r~i r~i rn —i A25 O26 A27 0 28A29 O30 A31 O32 A33 O34 Figure A2.2 Affinal Kin Table A2.1 Kinship Terminology of the Iteso Relationship from A As Recorded by Lawrence Classification given in 1957 Nyadar 1996 - 1998 1. Father’s mother Tata Tata 2. Father’s father Papaa Emojong 3. Mother’s mother Tata Tata 4. Mother’s father Papaa Papaa 5. Father’s sister Ijaa, Toto if oldest Ijaa/Toto if oldest 6. Father’s sister’s Papa Papa husband 7. Father’s brother’s wife Toto Toto 8. Father’s brother Papa Papa 9. Father Papa Papa, Muzei 10. Mother Toto Toto 11. Mother’s sister Ijaa Ijaa/Toto 12. Mother’s sister’s Papa Papa husband 13. Mother’s brother’s Aberu naka mamai Ijaa wife 14. Mother’s brother Mamai Mamai 15. Cousin: father’s Onac Onac sister’s son 16. Cousin: father’s Inac Inac sister’s daughter 17 Cousin: father’s Onac Onac brother’s son 18. Cousin: Father’s Inac Inac brothers daughter - J71 19. Brother Onac Onac 20. Sister Inac Inac 21. Cousin: mother’s Onac Onac sister’s son 22. Cousin: mother’s Inac Inac sister’s daughter 23. Cousin: mother’s Onac Onac brother’s son 24. Cousin: mother’s Inac Inac brother’s daughter 25. Father’s brother’s Okoku Okoku son’s son 26. Father’s brother’s Akoku Akoku son’s daughter 27. Father’s brother’s Okoku Okoku daughter’s son 28. Father’s brother’s Akoku Akoku daughter’s daughter 29. Bother’s son Okoku Okoku 30. Brother’s daughter Akoku Akoku. 31. Son Okoku Okoku 32. Daughter Akoku Akoku 33. Sister’s son Ocan Okoku 34. Sister’s daughter Acen Akoku 35. Son’s son Etatait, Okoku Etatait 36. Son’s daughter Atatait, Akoku Atatait 37. Daughter’s son Etatait, Okoku Etatait 38. Daughter’s daughter Atatait, Akoku Atatait 41 Wife’s father Omuron Omuron 42. Wife’s mother Amuran Amuran 43. Brother’s wife Aberu ka onac Aberu 45. Sister’s husband Amuran Omuron 48. Wife Aberu Aberu 49. Wife’s sister Amuran Amuran 50. Wife’s sister’s Okilen ka amuran Okilen ka amuran husband 51. Wife’s brother Omuran Omuran 52. Wife’s brother’s wife Amuran Amuran 53. Son’s wife Aberu ka okoku Aberu 54. Daughter’s husband Omuran, Okoku Omuran 55. Wife’s sister’s son Okoku ka amuran, Okoku Okoku 56. Wife’s sister’s Akoku ka amuran Akoku daughter 57. Wife’s brother’s son Okoku ka omuran, Okoku Okoku 58. Wife’s brother’s Akoku ka amuran, Okoku Akoku daughter Relationship from 0 39. Husbands’ father Papa Papa/ Emojong 40. Husband’s mother Toto Toto 45. Husband Okilen Okiliken 44. Husband’s brother Onac ka Okilen Imwika 46. Husband’s sister Inac ka Okilen/ Amwika Amwika (f,OZ Appendix Three HOUSEHOLD SURVEY DATA The following are the sociological details gathered during the household survey conducted in Otela village in Nyadar parish. Table A3.1 Composition of households in Otela Village Key: A Young Man, etunanan between age 12-26 O Young woman atunanan between age 12-26 A Man over 26 O Woman over 26 A Man over 60 O Woman over 60 A Boy under 12 O Girl under 12 - parent of: = spouse of: + grandparent of: * great grandparent of: / aunt of: Reference Household Notes Number Composition 1. A - 0 Man aged 29, schoolteacher and his wife, aged 27. He was an = 0 - A A A illegitimate child and inherited land from his mother’s brother who had brought him up. Lives with one child by a previous wife who died and three children with his present wife. 2. A- Widower, aged 75. His sister was the grandmother o f (1). 3. A Son of (2) who moved to a separate home because they have a bad relationship. 4. 0 Widow. Had four children by her first husband. They divorced and she married again to a man in Nyadar. He died and she stays on his land. 5. A = 0 - 0 0 A Man aged 32, his wife, 29, and five children. (4) is the wife o f his AO uncle. o < <1 II 6. * • Man aged 65, his wife, their fourth bom son and his wife and the c eight and ninth o f their children. Brother o f husband o f (4). 7. A -O Man, aged 21, his wife aged 19, their child and the child o f the man’s former girlfriend. Son o f (6). = 0 - A 8. A = 0 - 0 0 Man, aged 25, his wife, aged 23, their two children. Son o f (6), older brother o f (7). II 1 Man, aged 32, LC1, his wife and four o f their children. First bom > 0 > 9. o o son of (6). > > 10. A = 0 - A 0 Man, aged 20, his wife, their two children. His grandfather and (6) are brothers. 11. A = 0 Man, aged 45 and the first o f his two wives, second is (12). His father was the brother o f (6). II II 1 1 Second wife o f (11). Her son, his wife and their child. Wife of > 0 12. 0 her son is the sister o f the wife o f the son o f (7). > 0 o < <1 II 13. 1 1 Man, aged 42, his wife their only daughter and her child. 14. A = 0 - 0 A Man, aged 59, former NRA soldier, one o f his three wives and two o f their children. Hasn’t seen the other two wives since he went to fight. One o f his daughters was killed by rebels. Brother o f (15) II • Man, aged 50, his wife, their first bom daughter and her child, 15. > o with their youngest two children. Father o f (13) is his cousin. 1 1 o O o 16. 0 - 0 = A - 0 0 Man, aged 51, school teacher, his wife and five o f their children, A O A with mother o f wife, two niece o f his wife. Their eldest daughter + oo is the wife of (1). 17. A Man. Aged 19. His father was killed by rebels and his mother died o f Aids. Usually lives with (24) keeping their cows for them. 18. 0 - A A Woman, aged 65. Lives on her former husband’s land with her husband’s brother and two sons from her former marriage. One = A o f her sons was killed by rebels. o < O O < < < II 19. 1 Man, aged 33, LC2, his wife their five children. 20. A = 0 - 0 A 0 0 Man, aged 26, his wife and their four children. 21. A = 0 Newly married couple. 22. 0 - A A A A Woman, aged 45, her husband died in 1997 and she stays on his land with four o f their younger children. Mother o f (21) and (23). 23. A = O - 0 A Son o f (22), aged 22 and his wife, aged 23, their two children. Had another wife previously and one child but her parents took her back because he didn’t pay the lull bridewealth. 24. 0 - A A O O Woman, aged 44, her first husband was the cousin o f (16). He + A died and she went to live with his brother who also died. Now stays on their land with children from these marriages and two more children from different men and the child o f her daughter who died. L,0 A brother o f his wife. Son o f eldest daughter o f (33). 35. A = 0 + O A Man, aged 60, and his wife who had her arm amputated by Karamojong. Live with the two children o f the son o f his wife who was an illegitimate child bom before he married her. Brother of (2) 36. A = 0 - 0 A Son o f (35), his wife and two children. 37. 0 - A 0 A A A Co-wife o f (25). When their husband was killed by Karamojong, she was taken by the eldest son o f (25). He was killed by NRA and she now stays on their land with her co-wife and her five children (one from her first husband, one by her second and three by other men). 38. 0 - 0 - A 0 0 Sister o f (35), staying on her father’s land, her daughter and daughters three children. Came home after her husband died. 39. A = 0 + 0 0 A Man, aged 64, his wife and three grandchildren, the children o f their son who is away serving as a soldier, whose wife died. 40. A Son of (39). 41. A = 0 - A 0 Son o f (39), his wife and their two children. O < < II 42. l Son o f (39), his wife and their child. 43. A = 0 - 0 - O Man, aged 60, his wife, their daughter and her child, five + 0 0 A 0 A grandchildren, two o f the children o f a daughter who was killed by Karamojong, three from a son who was killed by rebels. 44. A = 0 - O A Son o f (43), his wife and their two children. 45. A = 0 Son o f (28) and his wife, no children. 46. O-AOOO Woman aged 40, with four o f her seven children. Staying on husband’s land, husband was brother o f (45). Had four children with her husband and three after he died with other men. 47. A = 0- A A Man, aged 20, his wife and two children. Son o f (39). o O <1 II 48. 1 Son o f brother o f (39), his wife and their child. 49. 0-0 Wife o f brother o f (48), husband killed by NRA, staying on his = A - A land with new husband, who is brother o f (52) and (51) and their child O <1 < II 50. l Son o f (35), his wife and their child. II 1 Man, aged 40, his son and his son’s wife from his first married, 51. > > second wife and their child. li li . . o o o o o 11 1 Man, aged 35, brother o f (51) and their child. > 0 52. o 53. A = O / O Man, aged 60, his wife and niece o f wife. 54. A = O - O O A Son o f (29), aged 25, their three children. Statistics for Household Data from Otela village Number of people living in village at time of survey 232 Women 55% Men 45% Composition of Village by age range Children under 12 48% Youth 12 - 26 29% Adult 26-60 15% Elderly over 60 8% Composition of village by household heads Male headed household 76% Female headed household 24% Composition of village by children Total number of children bom to those living in the village 259 Living in village at time of survey 45% Living outside the village at time of survey 35% Dead 20% Plate 15: MAP OF OTELA VILLAGE. Showing (top) position of Otela in Nyadar parish and (below) distribution of households according to clan membership. ODITEL Soroti •42 •41 / *28 3 0 */ • 29 3 6 * • 27 • 45 • 46 " •4 8 •4 9 34 50# • 38 44 Oditel camp Clan names • Atecok • Ekaregwok • Ewalai • Madera Bobolia • Ijepita * Epoingo • Wopongo • Echele (t.oy l+QV Figure A3.1 The Lineages of Madera Clan Within Otela Village A= O A =0 A4 = O A6 = O An= 0 = 0 A = 0 A 0=A90 A®=0A7= 0 O A = 0 0 O OOAA O O A*°= O AOO AO A A A o A=Q A46 A= O29 = O28 A= 0= O22 A54 A27 A30 A20 A23 A21 IfOl A = 033 An= 0 19 o 34 xe&V ,,v \\ve V*- Appendix Four SURVEY WITH SECONDARY SCHOOL STUDENTS A Survey was conducted amongst 82 first year students of the secondary school nearest to Nyadar. Some of the questions and replies are given below. Sociological Details Number of male students: 62 Number of female students: 20 Table A4.1 Ages of 82 First Year Secondary School Students Age Number of Students 12 1 13 0 14 19 15 21 16 19 17 12 18 8 19 0 20 1 21 1 413 Table A4.2 ‘How many children are there in your family?’ Number of children in the Number of respondents family 1 0 2 7 3 7 4 3 5 14 6 18 7 9 8 10 9 5 10 4 11 3 12 1 Average number of children per family: 6 Table A4.3 ‘Does/did your father have more than one wife?’ Number of wives of father Number of respondents 1 71 2 6 3 5 Table A4.4 ‘Are you an Orphan?’ Number of students Mother Dead 3 Father Dead 26 Both Dead 5 Cause of Death Rebels Kajong NRA Sickness Accident Witchcraft Old Age Mother 2 1 Father 5 7 3 5 1 2 3 Both 1 3 3 2 1 Total 6 10 3 10 1 5 4 414 Table A4.5 ‘What is/was your father’s employment?’ Employment of Father Number of respondents Peasant 73 Teacher 5 LC1 1 Healer, amuron 1 Water Engineer 1 Employment at the mission 1 None of the students’ mothers were in waged employment. Education Table A4.6 Replies to Qu.: ‘How many years of schooling have you missed?’ Years of schooling missed Number of students 0 23 1 40 2 12 *■> J 6 8 1 Table A4.7 ‘What was the reason for missing school for these years?’ Reason for missing school Number of respondents War 33 Lack of school fees 16 Death of a relative 8 Famine 2 415 Table A4.8 ‘What level are/were your parents educated to?’ Level of education Number Father No education 37 P1-P7 32 S3 2 S4 4 S6 6 College 1 Mother No education 72 P1-P7 4 SI 2 S3 2 S4 2 Table A4.9 ‘Why is education important to you?’ Importance of Education Replies Will lead to getting a salaried job in 30 future Brings knowledge 24 Will help achieve a better standard of life 24 in future Will help the whole family and 11 development of the home in future Will enable them to help others in future 4 Teaches reading and writing 4 Gives understanding of the country 3 Brings Friendship 2 Makes one be a good person 1 Brings development to the area 1 416 Table A4.10: ‘What is the most important thing you learn at school?’ Topic Replies English 22 Knowledge 21 Good manners and discipline 15 Health education 10 Reading and writing 10 Mathematics 5 Animal Husbandry and Agriculture 3 Politics 2 History 2 How to be active 1 Accumulation Table A4.11 ‘Who pays school fees?’ Members of family who pays school Number of fees respondents Father alone 16 Mother and Father 14 Mother and Self 10 Self Alone 6 Mother alone 5 Older brother 5 Mother’s brother alone 4 Mother’s brother, mother and self 3 Mother, father and self 3 Mother of father 2 Mother’s brother and self 1 Older brother and self 1 Step mother 1 Sister of mother 1 Older siblings 1 Mother, older sister and self 1 Mother, father’s brother, self 1 Self and younger siblings 1 Mother and older siblings 1 Mother, self and mother of father 1 Mother and Father and self 1 417 Table A4.12: ‘How did you raise last terms school fees?’ Source of school fees Number of respondents Selling crops 29 Sale of livestock 18 Aipakas 10 Selling beer 9 Father’s salary 7 Salary of a relative 4 As part of an unpaid bridewealth for a 2 sister Sponsorship 2 Selling wood 1 Rent of property 1 Making bricks 1 Loan from friends 1 Table A4.13 ‘How many cows/bicycles/ploughs do you have at home?’ Item Number owned Number of respondents Cattle 0 46 1 5 2 15 3 3 4 6 5 1 6 2 7 3 10 1 Bicycle 0 31 1 37 2 13 3 1 Ploughs 0 48 1 27 2 5 3 1 5 1 418 Average number of cattle at home of students: 1.4 Average number of bicycles at home of students: 0.8 Average number of ploughs at home of students: 0.5 Table A4.14 ‘Where do you get your pocket money from?’ Means of getting pocket money Number of respondents Aipakas 22 Father 10 Selling own crops 9 Brother 7 Don’t have pocket money 6 Mother 5 Selling hens 5 Brewing 4 Borrow from friend 3 Sister 1 Uncle 1 Business 1 Bricks 1 Aunt 1 Selling charcoal 1 419 Table A4. 15 ‘Where do you get money for buying books and pens from?’ Means of getting money for books and Number of pens respondents Aipakas 24 Selling own crops 10 Mother 10 Father 9 Selling hens 7 Brother 7 Parents 5 Brewing 3 Uncle/aunt 3 Sister 2 Brother 1 Wife 1 Business 1 Grandmother 1 Borrowing 1 Making bricks 1 Table A4.16 ‘Where do you get money for clothes from?’ Means of getting clothes Number of respondents Aipakas 24 Selling own crops 17 Brewing 8 Father 8 Mother 7 Brother 5 Uncle/aunt 3 Selling hens 3 Making bricks 2 Wife 1 Borrow 1 Sister 1 Business 1 Grandmother 1 420 Table A4.17 ‘How many times have you been to aipakas this year?’ Number of time Number of respondents 0 8 1 8 2 10 3 8 4 6 5 8 6 2 7 4 10 4 14 4 More than 14 times 17 Table A4.18 ‘Do you own animals of your own?’ Animal owned Number of respondents None 38 Goat 22 Cow 7 Pig 7 Cat 3 Hen 7 421 Table A4.19 ‘Which piece o f your personal property do you value the most?’ Property Number of respondents Clothes 14 School uniform 12 Goat 11 Books 10 Hen 8 Shoes 6 Land 5 Bike 3 Hen 3 Hoe 2 Bed-sheet 2 Cat 1 Radio 1 Rice seeds 1 Guava Tree 1 Bed 1 Pig 1 Money 1 Half a sack of beans 1 Hopes and Fears Table A4.20 ‘What would you like to do in future?’ Occupation Number of respondents Doctor 23 Teacher 19 Nurse 8 Politician 8 Priest 5 Have a job 4 Policeman 4 Stay in the village 4 Be rich 1 District Education Officer 1 Work in a bank 1 Work in an office 1 Help people 1 Be the Pope 1 422 Table A4.21 ‘What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you?’ Incident Number of respondents War 17 Death of Father 11 Poverty 9 Kajong stealing cattle 9 Loss of schooling 7 Seeing killing 5 Being shot by the Kajong 4 Failing exams 4 Sickness 4 Being beaten by the NRA 2 Famine in 97 2 Falling off a bike 2 Theft of property 2 Running from the Kajong 2 Being knocked by a car 1 Bitten by a dog 1 Table A4.22 ‘Are you a saved Christian?’ Yes: 39 No: 43 423 Table A4.23 ‘What is your greatest fear?’ Fear Number of respondents God 19 Aids 14 Death 12 War 6 Theft 5 Wild animals 4 Failing to get school fees 4 Snakes 2 Guns 2 Being a soldier 2 Failing to get a job in future 2 Ichan 2 Having an accident 1 Love letters 1 Fighting with parents 1 Marriage 1 Being beaten 1 The Devil 1 Committing adultery 1 Going out at night 1 424 Table A4.24 ‘What is the most important idea you have ever been given?’ Idea Number of respondents Having education 45 Praying to God 14 Loving other people 6 Agriculture 5 How to kill [in the war] 3 How to vote in elections 2 To be a doctor in future 2 How to be a priest in future 2 How to get school fees 1 Friendship 1 How to conduct business 1 How to be an amuron 1 Seeing death 1 How to get money 1 To be a teacher in future 1 Helping the home people 1 How it is to be sick 1 The W ar Table A4.25 ‘Where is the furthest place you ran to in the war?’ Furthest destination Number of respondents Soroti 29 Bush/camp 25 Other parts of north Teso 11 South Teso 9 Kampala 2 Jinja 2 Mbale 2 Lira 2 425 Table A4.26 ‘What was the impact of the conflict on your life?’ The Impact of Conflict Number of respondents Ichan Death of a relative of friend 22 Experience of famine 13 Loss of property 13 Loss of cattle 7 Disease 7 Loss o f ‘life’ 2 Ace Loss of education 12 Knowledge/witness of death 12 Experienced running/ being a refugee 8 Personal experience of violence 5 Failed to have knowledge of God 2 Experienced fear 2 Brought maturity 1 426 Appendix Five AUTOBIOGRAPHIES BY SECONDARY SCHOOL STUDENTS 1970s Jackson Osire My early experience at home, beginning at the age of about four years old. The most interesting of them, which hasn’t faded from my memory, took place in the 1960s. When I was four to five years old I remember a certain old man who used to put on tattered clothes and come to our house during my parents absence. This man seemed to be mentally affected or he was pretending to be mad. He found my sister and I only at the house. We were very frightened for he had large red eyes and a shaggy beard. In his deep voice he spoke kindly and cunningly. ‘Hello children’ he said, ‘don’t be afraid, don’t you know that I am a very close friend of your father?’ We kept quiet without giving any response. He then added, ‘Your father is at the shops and has sent me to tell you that he will be coming later with your mummy. So please, he wants to you to go the headmaster’s house and stay there until he has returned. So intelligent was my sister that she refused. She dragged me into the house and locked the door. As we watched through the crack in the window we saw the old man 427 stroll away sadly. His evil plans to rob our house had failed. When we told our father about this he was very happy. The second experience of my childhood took place involving my friend. One time when I was with my friend we found hat we had a large appetite for pounded groundnuts and sugar yet our mothers would never satisfy us with the desires of our hearts. At that time we saw only one alternative left open to us. After holding a short conversation, which we kept secret, we found ourselves near to satisfying our desires. Fortunately we managed to creep silently into the storeroom without anyone noticing. We filled our pockets as full as we could wish with groundnuts. Then on our way out one of us dropped a cup and so we found ourselves racing away from the danger spot. It wasn’t long however before we were assembled to answer for the charges. Mummy cross-questioned us and we found ourselves accusing each other. But she kindly forgave us and warned us seriously and this kept us from stealing again. The last of my experiences, which I can remember, was such a sad one. This was in the same year as I was taken to school. I had grown interested in rocking our baby. So one day I went to the bed where Mummy had lain the baby. The bed was an open one at the sides. When I tried to lift the child who was asleep it unfortunately slipped down and fell. It started crying loudly and Mummy was soon at the spot. When I was asked what had taken place I couldn’t answer because I was very frightened. The child was then taken to the dispensary and it recovered. That child is now a grown persona and is the brother of mine and he narrowly escaped death at that time. Before I was taken to school I used to stay with my mother at home and helped her in looking after the children. My mother taught me how to count and how to say the alphabet in Ateso. I learnt all these things by heart. I had many friends and we used to play football and hide and seek. There were bigger boys, who made us to race, which I enjoyed. During this time I was very notorious. I used to fight my friends. I even used to disobey my mother. But then she beat me so I realised that it was high time to 428 stop being naughty. I used to accompany my father to the class where he used to teach. I could wait there until he finished teaching and return home with him. Sometimes I used to cry for sweet things for my father to buy me. When I was taken to school I felt very sad as I was loosing the pattern of life that I had always led. I was very annoyed with father for I thought he was interfering. I soon made new friends but when I started thinking of life at home I would cry and escape there. It took me about three weeks to get used to school life. When the holidays came I was very happy for I would continue my pattern of life at home. I tried to practice some of the things I learnt at school at home but most of my holidays I was engaged with my father as he taught me how to read. I would go and visit my friends and relatives during the holiday. I would tell them how I found school life. I would then get sad as it came one week to the study of a new term. Charles Oluga. I was bom in the year 1955 in a small village in Soroti district. I am t he fourth born child of my parents. When I was still young my mother used to go to dig in the garden and my sister stayed at home to care for me. As she was quite young she would go to play with other children leaving me in the bed crying until my mother cam to care for me. One day when I had started crawling she left me in the bed and I tried to crawl down. I fell on my left hand and broke it. After I broke it I made a loud cry and she came to collect me. My mother heard the loud ciy and came to ask my sister why I was crying. My sister denied that she knew the reason why i was crying. After a while my mother discovered that she had hurt me and she became very serious and started beating my sister. My sister ran away. She came back very late in the evening and was warned against doing that again. The next morning I was taken to hospital and my hand recovered. 429 When I was three I used to wake up early and follow my parents to the garden. I could play with soil and catch grasshoppers and butterflies and other insects to play with. The game I liked best was building houses with wet soil and then covering them with leaves for shelter. After that I would play near it happily thinking I was lying inside it. If anyone spoilt my house I would ciy for more than an hour. By that time I was about four my father would tell me to take the goats to the grazing ground before he went to the garden. By then I was not allowed to go the gardens in the mornings. I then played at home with other children. When it was time to take the goats to graze we could go together and take out goats to the field. When the parents returned my mother started cooking straight away. Meanwhile I played with my father. He could tell me stories of his youth and the difficulties he faced to become a man with a family. However I was too young to take those things in and later he told me them again. When I grew up I was told that I would go to school the following year and I was pleased to hear thins. Whenever my father went to work he told me to take care of things at home. The school was two miles from my home. The first month I enjoyed going to school but then I wanted to refuse schooling. But my father forced me to got 0 school. I could play a trick on him sometimes. I would tell him that I was sick and if it became too late to go to school I would start playing with other children. There was a day I wanted to refuse to go to school but he forced me tog o. I went and stopped on the way and decided to find a safe place for hiding myself. I climbed to the top of a mango tree and stayed there. I was unlucky that when I was up there a man who knew me came and found em. He asked me why I was hiding. I didn’t answer him and he went away saying that he was going to tell my father that I had to gone to school. I decided to move to another hiding place. When I saw that it was noon I decided to go home. I went home thinking that my father had heard that I didn’t go to school. When 1 reached home my father said nothing and I became very happy, The next day I went to school and I was beaten. This made me to hate school specially when I 430 remembered what I had been doing at home. I would pray for the holidays and I was very happy when that day came and I would run home. Nimy Edau. I am a boy of eighteen years of age, bom in a small village in Soroti district. I was called Edau after my grandfather. In the village I live with my father, my mother my older brother and myself. When I was about five years old I used to help my parents with some minor work such as fetching water from a nearby well, using small unbreakable containers for my mother knew that I could drop the containers easily and it would surely break if it was breakable. My father used to send to me the nearby shops to buy him cigarettes and other small things for not more than 5 /= for I would forget to buy some of the thing he wanted. In fact I was very forgetful. I remember one day I was sent to buy salt and I brought cigarettes instead of salt. When I reached home the sun was about to set and I was beaten severely and we had to go that day without eating anything for supper, as there was no money left for spending. As it was also dark there would be no shops remaining open. Another time I was forgetful when my mother left the baby girl in the house and told me to look after her. Instead I went to play with my friends and did not care for the baby. When mother returned she found that the baby had cried until it had cried no more and was about to die. However she was taken to Soroti hospital where help was given immediately. As for me I was beaten more than a dozen times for my forgetfulness when I was young. In those days I was interested in new things and work too. The work that I was eager to do was looking after our herd of cattle with my older brother. But my father wouldn’t allow me into the bush. When I asked him the reason why he just told me that there were huge animals in the forest that ate men. When I asked him why the animals didn’t eat my brother w ho used to go into the forest he just answered that men could climb three when animals were seen. As I was a child and having little 431 thoughts I would never remember to ask why these animals never ate the cattle. Maybe I thought that animals enjoy men only. As I was interested in things I was fond of asking many questions of which the elders did not answer some properly. Such questions such as ‘Why is the sun not seen a night?’ ‘Where does the sun hide and why?’ ‘Why does my father not want to buy a car so that we can be driven from place to place?’ ‘How did I come to be living?’ And so on. It was not easy to answer those questions, as my parents were not educated people. One thing happened to me when I was five and I shall never forget it. One day my parents had gone to drink beer and left me with my older brother. When it became dark and it was time for going to bed a certain man came walking naked to our house. He did not say anything to us but when we ran out of the house the man carried my father’s goat and ran away. We could not recognize the man as the light was very faint. The man then took my father’s goat but as we were children there was nothing we could do about it. We tried to run after the man but he picked up a stick and so we ran off. I first went to school when I was about eight years old. In fact I had been waiting to go to school since I was about six years old. My father was poor and would not take me to school. My uncle, realising my father’s poverty. Decided to take me to school. As a poor boy I never felt happy at school because I never ate at lunchtime. My uncle did not pay for my lunch so I could only eat something when the mangos were ripe. In spite of this I managed to carry on with my studies until I was in P6 when my uncle was sick so there was no one to pay my school fees and I stayed at home for one year. When my uncle recovered he continued to educate me and even now he is the one paying my school fees. 432 In fact I was lucky to have had this chance to go to school for if I look back and remember village life, I do not think that I would have had a good life there. I remember some of my friends who left school, they are now very poor and some are thieves and others are servants of the rich. Although I am a schoolboy I am better off than some of them particularly those ones who are thieves, as they gain nothing of their own. At least for me I am gaining something that will help me in my future. James Nan-Tulya The things that you are going to read below which I hope that you will enjoy, happened in a home that was not all that important. It was situated at a distance of about twenty-five kilometers from the nearest town and about a mile from the nearest road. So you can see that my home was in a village that was far into the countryside. It was surrounded by a good number of banana plantations and trees which made it cool when it was hot and thins was very enjoyable for young children. My parents were not very old at that time, then being in middle age (between thirty and thirty-five). My family was made up of six people, of which one was my sister who was almost twice as old as I was. During my youth many important things happened, some were very strange, as I had not experienced them before at that time. For example my father used to go to the shops to buy sugar, mark you, the shops were by the main road. When I heard of this I was very pleased for whenever my father went out he would return with some buns and sweets that he used to buy at the shops. The sweets were very nice and whenever he bought them for us we could even go without food. Now I wanted to go with him to the shops but he refused to take me. I cried and cried until he sympathised with me and agreed to take me with him. This being the gist time that I went to the shops I was very pleased to go. 433 When we reached to the shops I first wondered at the well-constructed road and how long it was. The paths in the village were very narrow and short compared to that one. Secondly I looked at the wonderful buildings, as I had not seen such buildings before. However as we prepared for the journey home, no sooner had we left that I heard a very frightening sound. I wanted to ask father about it but then I saw an object rolling down the street at full speed. For sure it was a car, as I knew later. This was the strangest thing that had happened in my life up to then. When I went back home this was the first story I told. My sister surprised me the more by telling me that the thing I had seen was for collecting childfree who went to the road without permission from their parents. As a result I didn’t go to the shops anymore. Another memory I have is of when my father sent me and a friend to go and collect money from his friend about a quarter of a mile from our home. We reached there and the man gave us a 20/= note which he handed to me and ordered me strictly to keep it in my pocket. Before this the only money I had seen was the five and ten cent pieces and a silver coin so I thought that the man had given me a letter for father. Soon we met a man who troubles us and persuaded us to give us the note. He said that it was of no use to our father and that he wanted to keep his cigarettes in it. He gave us some sweets and said that if we gave him the note we could keep the sweets. I got out the note and gave it to him without hesitation and he took the note and disappeared from our sight. We were very happy to have the sweets so we ran and showed them to our father and told him all that had happened. As we were too young to punish he did nothing and we never saw the man who did this again. Still my memories continue and a very serious thing happened to me. One morning my sister had gone to the gardens we remained sitting at home sitting in the sunshine. 434 A man came running towards us and asked us where father had gone. He barked at us seriously with his eyes wide open. We started shaking and begged for mercy. He roared at us and said that father had been badly beaten at the shops and that he had sent him to collect the bicycle so that he could be taken to the dispensary. Being frightened we gave him the bicycle thinking that father must have gone to the shops very early before we woke up. Having got the bike the man rode off like the wind and could not be seen any longer. At around noon, surprisingly, we saw father coming back from the garden with a hoe. We realised that the man had played a trick on us. So we told father what had happened. This time he was very annoyed at what had happened to his new bicycle and we got a good beating for having been so stupid. As I was a child I used to play a lot but my parents started giving me some work to do. Father had some sheep and goats and it became my responsibility to look after them. This was very tiring work but I did it happily because I would be accompanied by my friends. We went hunting for birds. For this we used catapults. We were very proud if this game because we used to give the birds to our home people when we went home. On my mothers side she used to make me wash the plates after the meals when I wasn’t looking after the animals and I used to do it roughly because I wasn’t used to it. At the age of six my sister had joined a school with another girl who was also in my family. They used to go to school very early in the morning and come back late. Whenever they came back they would practice writing, counting and singing nicely. All these things made me admire them. I thought of the life they led whilst they were at school. I also went as far as admiring their fellow boys at school. Whenever they came home they would not look after the goats and sheep. They wouldn’t play in mud. They would criticise us saying that we were dirty foolish and ignorant. This resulted in a feeling of great hatred between the schoolboys and us. As these things made me miserable and I resolved to go to my father so that he could take me to school. I insisted and disturbed him by crying every morning and following my sister 435 to school. Eventually with my mother I managed to win the game and I was allowed to got o school. I was very happy this day and on the way I never tired particularly as I liked looking at my new pairs of khaki shorts and a shirt. As I continued with my studies the time came that I tired of it all. I felt it a great task 0 walk all the way there and back. My friends at school were not as nice as those in school. I could not enjoy my life very much. All the time I was forced to practice writing. This was hard work for a boy as young as I. At times I would wake up late so as not to go to school. If this trick failed I would stop on the way pretending to be sick. My parents forced me to go. 1 started hating studies but later I regained my courage for them. I began to hate the village and its contents. Then it became that I enjoyed the school days and did not enjoy the holidays. For I was very overworked in the holidays. I would spend most of my time looking after goats and sheep. As I was now quite grown up I would work on the gardens of cotton and millet. I got very tired and did not even have time for washing my clothes. Everything was very dirty which is a real shame for a schoolboy. Lastly by the time we came to resume our studies I would have forgotten everything that I had learnt and we would be punished by the teachers for this who did not consider that we might be over worked at home. For those reasons I hated the holidays and could not enjoy them. And putting my pen down I hope that the reader has enjoyed what I have written. 1997 Otim Francis. Since I grew up there was nothing wrong until the Karamojong started killing people and destroying things. The worst of all was when the Karamojong caught us and they made us catch all the chickens we had at home and give them to them. I am a boy of 436 sixteen years old. I started my education in 1989 and now I am in secondary school. I went o Kampala for the first time on 13th Novemeber 1996 and I found life good from that end. I wrote a letter to my brother who is in Kampala on 5th October 1997. My life is now running smoothly and I think it will continue in future. I like education more than anything. The worst thing in the world is being at home whilst others are being educated. This happens if your parents are poor and education becomes difficult. I like singing in the church choir and playing football. I like to go on adventures like when I went to Tororo I saw tsetse flies crocodiles and chimpanzees. Ichuman Claudius. When I was still young my mother sent me to live with her mother. Her parents loved me as though I was their last bom child. When I was five they started to take me to school to start primary one. They loved me every day carrying me to school and brought me food at school. They loved me so much, as though they wanted me to become the Chairman of the parliament. When I was in P5 I was very stubborn at school. The teachers used to beat me a lot, again and again at break and at lunch. The they told me to collect my parents. I collected my parents and we solved that problem. Up to now I am OK. Starting on that day I have good friends and I am very good and polite. My aunt really loves me; she brings me pocket money. My father has promised that I will be a teacher so that I can help my home people and relatives. They love me so much that they buy me expensive books. Okiror John. My mother told me that long long ago when I was young I was a stupid boy in my manners. I used to cry fearing people when they came home to drink beer or alcohol. When I saw them coming I used to go into the house and lock the door so that no one would see me. During the days when Karamojong used to come and steal our animals from Teso my father decided to take me to Amuria county to my uncle’s place. I 437 reached there with my sisters but in my heart I wanted to go back to where my parents where. I refused to eat. I refused to eat and when they called me to come and eat I would just start crying. So they used to give food to everyone and then just come and give me food on my own. They nickr.amed me Okoria Igkigok because I used to cry and cry as if I wanted to die. Them my aunt decided to take me back to where my parents were staying. After reaching ny parents I became very fat fat, eating fish and meat. So up to now I am alive but H was almost to die. But I know that God was with me. Thank you. Okurut Moses. I was bom in 1978 whereby I am tthe second last-bom. In fact I am a boy who likes the church choir. I was told by my frbnd that “Let us join the church choir” and that day I almost jumped to heaven. Oib evening when I was sleeping in my house I heard a voice that said, “Go to the tcharch choir right now”, so I did. One time I also had a vision that I was speaking witth i European and kumbe it has happened just like that. In fact in my life I like friends. Without friends I will die very fast. I like those friends who are in school but even ttose in the village I like them if they have good manners. I can share with them my/ tioubles and I with them. The only thing in my life, which is difficult, is that I am weiy poor. I like school even more than I like being in the choir. It is good to be educated tecause you will get many friends and in my life I like such things. I am also looking for a way of getting married in my life but the only problem is that I don’t have ian/thing in my place for that. So I am going to struggle on my way to get married. Iningo John. My life is based on studying and Homing people because the Bible says Love One Another. The best idea I had in my/ life was to study and my parents also agreed to that. But I face the problem of gettiing school fees. My parents are very old and they 438 don’t have any way of paying school fees for me. If I finish my schooling I will become a teacher. I will go to teach our brothers and teach them how to develop our country. These are the main things in my life. 1) A way of getting money to pay school fees. 2) A way of getting food which is very difficult. 3) A way of getting money to buy pens clothes and books. All this is very difficult and I am often absent from school because I go to dig in someone’s garden. Because if my book gets finished there is no other way of getting another one without going to dig in someone’s garden. This is the story of my life. Echeku Julius. My life. When I was born I found that long ago people stayed from one family to another. When I grew up 1 found that you will see people taking milk to the diary, they sell it and come back with money. At that time the Karamojong came for all the cattle and people were crying for their cattle. My father said “My dear sons I want to take you to school to learn. For us in those days we had animals but now you, you don’t have anything that you can use. But if you learn seriously you will get everything that you want.” And I have accepted what he told me. But during the rebel activity everywhere you went you would find rebels from there. Rebels took everything concerning me and they killed my brother. So up to this time I am very poor and find it difficult to come to school. That is the problem I have in my life. Egwapu Helen. I was bom in 1983 and as I was bom my mother and father had no money. I fell sick but they didn’t have any money for treating me and I was about to die. Then they took me to the hospital and cried tears saying to the doctor “We don’t have money. We are poor, please excuse us.” The doctor treated me and immediately I was OK. As I grew up the Karamojong were conducting their wars. In 1987 I was shot by a gun but I didn’t die. As time went on my sister got sick and my father didn’t have money at all. 439 They were really poor so they went to work on someone’s gardens and worked for money and they were given 1000/=. Immediately they got the money they took their children to the hospital to treat them. As time went on my brother became sick and was taken to the hospital but he died on the way. Now I and my brother are looking for school fees. I live at home and I have a boyfriend there. My parents told me that it is better to have a boyfriend at home rather than being alone. They said that “Maybe you will fail to get money for your education but your boyfriend will finish his education and get employed. Then you will be able to borrow money from him because you are friends.” Mutobo Moses. I am a boy aged 14 years old. I was bom in 1982.1 started my education in 1989. The Karamojong killed my father in 1985. Having killed him we went away from home to town because the Karamojong were k8illing so many people. When we were in town there was nothing to eat and my education dropped right down because of war. We had to run to town and there was no way of going to get food from home. That really spoilt my education. I would be in s4 but that war stopped all that I wanted to leam in future. Ederu Simon. I am a boy of 15 years old and I am a Ugandan from the clan of Imugana. When I was young my mother and father told me some interesting things of long ago. They told me about marriage but now in myself I cannot follow that culture. I want education first and then I will get married later. In 1981 I started my education. When I was still young a certain girl was also educating in that school. She told me that “I want you” but I decided to tell her that “Let me finish my education first”. So my father told me that “You get married, you are now mature enough. I will marry a wife for you.” But I want to finish my education and up to now I am the one educating myself. I am not 440 saying that I don’t want to marry I am just saying that I want to finish my education first. Okitoi Richard. This is the story of the most important thing I have learnt in my life. Long time ago there was a rich man in my village who used to have a high standard of life. One day he called my people and asked them to become his servants, keeping his cattle for him and cultivating crops for him. And my people spent a lot of years in his home. But one day he went to the market and he got very drunk and came back at nighttime. He met some rebels on the way and they beat him seriously and after beating him they took money from him. They took about 200 000/=. After they took the money they let him go and the rich man came home and he cried with a loud voice crying for his money. My people decided that it was better to go home rather than be the servants of rich people. They decided to go back. After their going they heard that the rich man was affected by a virus and a few days later the rich man died. That was the end of his high life in his home. Isamat Paul. I was bom in 1983 in the place called Matailong. My father is Okuii Robert and my mother is Apiot Joyce. When I was growing up I learnt many activities like playing football, carrying children, cooking, fetching water and cultivating crops. In 1986 during the war we used to run to the bush during the nighttime. As we were Iteso we ran three times a day 1) Museveni’s government. 2) Rebel activities 3) the Karamojong. I hate the Karamojong seriously because they were the ones who used to kill people very much. They wanted to take people’s properties especially their cattle for them to use as their basic needs. The Iteso are now the poor people of Uganda. Up to now they don’t have enough bicycles, animals and food because the Kajong were the ones who took their cattle. Yet we used cattle for ploughing crops, because we 441 don’t have any way of getting food apart from agriculture. And the serious thing that happened during the war was that we couldn’t plant crops or the way of getting food to eat. The way of getting money from Uganda is very difficult. We don’t have any machines for our use. We are still so poor especially at the level of the village, especially those families with many children. Edicu Paul. Me. When I was still young my father loved me too much. When I reached the stage of going to school my father brought me books, pens, school uniform and sandals. But those days I tell you my father was using the bicycle for carrying me up to school everyday. But then my father was killed and he left em alone with my mother. The my mother advised me every day saying “You also work hard to help me with some work like cultivating, doing homework”. And also my mother used to advice me that “You also work hard in school like your father. When he was in school he used to read books. I want you to also do that so that in future you can also stay in a comfortable way.” Now I am in the adult stage I can think of some other things like going to the garden, buying my clothes, my books and others. Even now I have my garden of potatoes, cassava and ground nuts. I can sell those and get my money for buying other things. In fact I have a lot to tell you but I don't have the time to tell you everything. Thank you. Ocurtg Emmanuel. I am an African child. My country is Uganda therefore I am a Ugandan. I was bom in 1982 at a place called Takaranyem. As I grew up there were political insurgencies. We were collected into camps. I started my studies from Oditel camp. So from there my father was killed and I remained with my mother, brother and sisters at home. After that insurgency the famine attacked us. I think the whole world knows that. It killed one of my brothers. After the death of that brother the soldiers came and beat 442 my elder brother saying that he was a rebel. And yet the war was also over! Then they took him to be a soldier and one of his friends was killed in the war of Gulu. Now I am at home with my mother and three little sisters. I am the one who is catering for them and my school fees also. So I have a lot of problems at home. Esepu Robert. My father married my mother. When he married her my mother got pregnant and produced me. When she finished to produce me she fed me with milk until I grew up. When I grew up I was very stubborn to my mother. She used to beat me terribly. Those days Karamojong were raiding people. I used to run with her hiding in the bush. When the Kajong reached to our home they looked the home. My father kept taking the cows to somewhere to hide. One day the Kajong came straight and took all his cows. After they took the cows the Holy Spirit came to my father and made him feel free and then my parents began to cultivate with hands. Two years later the rebels also came to do the same problem, killing people, beating etc. The government decided what to do was to take everyone into camps. Then the rebel activity got finished and people went back to the villages to do agriculture. Because people knew that they were in danger they turned to God very seriously. Like myself I prayed to God every day and every Sunday. I used to be a drunkard but when the lovely Holy Spirit of God came to me I left that and followed Jesus Christ as my Saviour. Adero Josephine. I am 17 years old. I was born in 1980. When I was a young girl I used to fight with some children. So as I grew to my age now I got some ideas that I do not want to marry until I reach to university. If I finish my education I will get a man who will cater for my children. I have a friend called Christine and she walks with some girls who have Aids so I am going to leave her because she might teach me such bad things without me reaching to university. One day when I was going to the village I found a 443 snake fighting with a chameleon. I knocked with a bicycle then the snake entered the wheels of the bicycle and I shouted. It was trying to bite me but I jumped off the bicycle. One day a Karamojong came to me and said, “Please I want to marry you.” I said to the Karamojong “Please excuse me but I am still on my education. You are not even educated. You are not fit to become my husband. You are very dirty in my life. I will get one with a degree. You are very hopeless. Go away.” Enyoru Daniel. Long ago when I was in primary 3 my father didn’t buy me any clothes, books or pens but my mother used to buy me those things. My father was a drunkard. He didn’t even care for his body or for his life. Even bedding my father doesn’t have. Even me I didn’t have bedding. At that time I went to Kampala where my uncle is. My uncle brought me bedding and clothes and I came to the village. Karamojong took all those things and I had to sleep on the skin of a cow at that time. Then my grandmother brought me a piglet and it grew up and produced six piglets. I sold three of them and I got 9 000/=. Then I went to the market and I brought a goat and the goat produced many goats. It is these goats which are helping me to pay my school fees. Atim Christine. I am a girl of 14 years old. Now I am in SI. At the time I joined Achumet SS I had a lot of friends. But now my friends used to hurt me saying that I am poor but they are rich and that they don’t want to walk with me because I have no money. But for them they have a lot of money and they said, “Who wants to walk with a poor girl like that one.” When I went home I told my mother my story and she started crying. After crying she advised me “Don’t mind about that but struggle with your education only. Don’t and cheat someone for money or properties. But keep on praying to God. God will bless you and you will become rich in future, richer than those who are rich because of their father’s money.” 444 Amou Michael. The first thing I can remember about my life is that in those days my father had about 50 cattle. As I was still young I was not able to look after those cattle and it was my brothers who used to look after cattle. The moment the cattle were brought for milking I would be going there carrying my cup waiting for milk. As soon as they provided me with milk I went o my sister to cook it for me. Those days when cattle were there we had ever enough food. Even dressing I used to dress in a good way because my father could sell one cow for me to buy clothes. Later on the cattle raiders called Karamojong came and took all the cattle and they took the clothes that I had in those days. So my father saw that the Karamojng had taken all the cattle and that they were killing people so he decided to take me to town and we stayed there for about ten years until they stopped disturbing people. Up to now if I want something I have to go and work from someone’s garden. In fact these days life has become very difficult. That is all about my life. Adungo Simon. I was the boy who people didn’t want. On my growing up I was putting on rags but when I grew older I realised that I could go and work on someone’s garden in order to buy clothes. Then my mother realised that it is better to take this boy to school so he will also be one of the persons who will get a job in future. Since I started my education there was a boy also who as with me in PI. He loved me very much and I also loved him but he has now gone away. I would like to greet him so that he remembers me. “Dear friend how is the life going on where you are now? Do you remember me? I am also alive. Please come and see me from here because ever since you went there you don’t even write a letter for me.” 445 Opolo Emmanuel. Since I was bom I have faced many difficulties in my lifetime. I have noted that all Africa’s children are poor and their parents don’t want to take care of their children. I have learnt that in some countries like England it is the government who takes care of the people, educating them. But for us in Uganda here the government will only educate you until Primary school not secondary school and they have only just begun that. Since 199J when I began my education the rebels fought against the government and a lot of people were killed. This contributed to the ignorance of people because they failed to educate their children. One day I was going to school and the rebels came to catch me when I was on the road. The army was following the rebels. As soon as the army began to fight with the rebels I decided to run. When I reached the school the headmaster asked me “Why are you panicking like that?” I told the headmaster that I was almost caught by rebels and the headmaster started crying but I said “Don’t cry because I wasn’t killed.” Oloe James. When I was bom I had all my parents alive. But since the war and cattle raiders started to disturb us here my life is not in a good condition since I am now an orphan. I have lacked many things. First of all the cattle raiders took all my father’s property like cattle and goats. Secondly the rebels killed my father. But all of these problems I am putting into the hands of God. Since my mother decided to take me to school I am now enjoying life a bit. I like to have walks with my friends and I enjoy playing sports. The end. 446 Appendix Six DRAWINGS The following are a small selection of over 200 drawings drawn by children and young people in Nyadar. Some were drawn in school class settings. Others during group discussions. The drawings are given with explanations of them given by the young people. Plate 17: ‘THE BEST AND WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.’ The best day: listening to a radio on Christmas Day 1996. The worst day: Karamojong raiding the home and loosing a new shirt. Eblel Charles, 18, Nyadar Church Youth Group, 17.1.97. W -p~ -p -O Plate 18: ‘THE BEST AND WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.’ , 1 The best day: dancing and listening to the radio on Christmas Day 1996. Worst day Karamojong stealing his bull. Opio Patrick, 19, Nyadar Church Youth Croup, 17.1.97. IlpA o i 3 i \ i ’ .f \V J n Plate 19: ‘REBELS.’ Rebels tie people up, steal their chickens and kill people with knives. Eco Andrew, 18, Nyadar Church. Youth Group, 17.1.97. qS 1 1+S2. ftu \ tAA-r—...' \5, ) % . / / ' u\M/r; . K •c~ u> V ^ ; A > '' Plate 20: ‘A BEAUTIFUL HOME.’ / < The father rides to market on his bicycle. The old man goes to im y ;a ?/< the bush to defecate. The mother stands on her veranda. The boy vv / hunts birds in the bush and feeds his pig. There are chickens. £ Jk Edigu Stephen, 7, 1 Nyadar Church Youth Group, 7. 1 1.97. NA $ : //A i s A d J Plate 21: ‘A BEAUTIFUL HOME.’ It has a bicycle, car. People are drinking beer and listening to the radio. Ogwang Charles, 9, Odiie! Primary School. \\Q cj C- <- HVirALA. Plate 23: ‘A BEAUTIFUL HOM E.’ It is near the borehole. People are drinking beer. Women kneel down when they give beer to men. An/thtf Tnr>vnhinp R Orfitpl Primary* School R J() 'O 7 If. 1aO Plate 24: ‘WHAT I WILL DO WHEN I AM OLDER.’ First grow crops, then sell them and buy cattle, use the oxen to grow more crops. Etibu Moses, 13, Nyadar Primary school, 2.11.97. ^ 1 BIBLIOGRAPHY Abdel Ati, H.A 1993. 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